Say Anything, Except That
by Cortexikid
Summary: Deadpool had half a second to witness the utter shock, quickly followed by the rush of blood to Peter's usually pale cheeks, creating an adorable blush, before he clapped a hand over his eyes and let out a yell. "OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU NAKED!" Wade glanced down at himself and shrugged, "hey, I'm the one that woke up here, shouldn't I be asking you that? Perv."
1. When Harry Met Deadpool

**Say Anything…Except That**

**By Cortexikid**

**Chapter 1: When Harry Met Deadpool**

**A/N: Hi guys, Happy New Year! So, this is my first foray into the Spideypool fandom. I've read it over the years, but haven't read or written any fic in a long while, so who knows how this is gonna go. Along with my own headcanon and fanon, I've borrowed elements of a multitude of Spiderman and Deadpool canon across the board, from the comic books, to the film franchises, to the videogames and cartoons. So everything will be a little mix and match, with no one set of established canon and/or story—**

**_Geez, alright already lady, enough with the boring yapipidy yap, let's get this show on the road! My adoring fan base awaits!_**

**Sigh. Sorry. He tends to do that if my author's notes are too long. Or too short. Or if he's bored. Or hungry.**

**[Yellow Box]**

**{White Box}**

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…Jack Frost nipping at your junk—"

_{Pretty sure that's not how that song goes}_

"Yuletide carols butchered by a drunk and folks dressed up as fuck-knows-what…"

_[It's like he's trying to get it wrong]_

"Moi? Bastardize a beloved Christmas jingle? How dare you," the red-and-black clad mercenary admonished loudly as he squinted, readjusting the M21 rifle for a better vantage point of the apartment building.

_{Isn't it a little late for Christmas songs?}_

_[Or really, really early?]_

"Isn't it a little early for you to be a little bitch?" he asked sweetly, continuing to hum the tune.

_[Someone's a little touchy]_

_{It's the holiday season. This time of year he's…sensitive}_

"Excuse you, I'm all steel baby, have you seen these abs? Ain't nothin' about me sensitive!"

_{Classic deflection}_

_[Borderline narcissism]_

_{With just a touch of delusion}_

"Just a touch of love—a little bit," the masked man known as Deadpool (Wade Winston Wilson if you're nasty—his words) sang as he slowly nudged the scope around, looking through the windows of each apartment.

"Well hell-o there," he jeered at the sight of a buxom woman standing in front of her refrigerator, pouring herself a glass of lemonade.

"What fine…jugs you have," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at the large glassware she held.

_{4/10}_

_[Weak. Could do better.]_

"There's just no pleasin' some people," Deadpool sighed as he moved onto another window, a gaggle of children chasing each other around a living room, now visible.

"Ha ha 'gaggle.' Who talks like that?"

_{The writer's European}_

"Well, we can't all be perfect."

A shrill laugh broke through the early January air, floating out the crack in the open window as the children continued to play, their rather haggard-looking father clearly dismayed as they ran under his feet.

_{Pretty sure we're not here to kill some kids}_

_[Even if the little demons deserve it]_

"I'm with Yellow on this one…" Deadpool remarked before tilting the rifle to the left, another apartment coming into view.

_[Does nobody close their drapes anymore?]_

A response was on the tip of the mercenary's tongue, but before he could open his mouth, a tall, thin, brunet man in his twenties walked through the front door, shirking off his coat and scarf and pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose, raking a hand through his messy mop of hair.

_{Cute}_

_[10/10. Would totally bang]_

Deadpool tilted his head, his narrowed eyes drinking in the younger man as he moved about his home, opening a laptop and settling at the kitchen table, rubbing the back of his long, pale, very attractive neck.

"So we're going with Andrew Garfield Spidey instead of Tobey Maguire Spidey, huh?Good to know…"

_[Shh! You're not meant to know that it's Spidey yet!]_

_{Have you heard of story narrative?!}_

_[He'll probably forget in a minute anyway]_

"Forget what?"

_[See?]_

Wade shook his head, one of his many futile attempts to silence the boxes as he continued to watch the young man. It was clear from his current posture that he was used to being hunched over for long periods of time, and yet his slim but firm form suggested that he had at least some degree of athleticism. The mercenary couldn't tear his eyes away as the brunet typed away at his keyboard, engrossed in whatever he was composing, the glare from the screen reflecting in his glasses.

"What an adorable nerd," Wade mused with a smirk as the bespectacled beaut suddenly let out a happy shout, his fist shooting up and pumping the air in excitement.

_{Pretty sure we're not meant to kill him either}_

"You're pretty sure about a lot of things, aren't ya?" the merc groused, forcing himself to move away from the cutie's apartment and instead focus on the one right next door.

It wouldn't be long now…

* * *

><p>Peter Benjamin Parker was having one hell of a day. And not the good kind. Whoever said that with hard work comes great rewards, clearly had never been a grad student.<p>

He frowned at himself when that thought flittered into his tired brain as he climbed the stairs of his apartment building. It wasn't like him to be so negative, but these last few months were really testing him.

When he accepted a research position at Stark Industries six months ago, Peter had been stoked. It had been his dream for as long as he could remember to work side by side with none other than Tony Stark – genius, billionaire, former playboy and philanthropist, but now, along with balancing his lab research, grad school, his old part-time photography gig at The Daily Bugle, and his responsibilities as your friendly neighbourhood Spider Man, he was beginning to feel the strain.

It was days like these when he missed living with his Aunt May. She always had a way of making him feel better, no matter what he was up against. Moving out of his home in Queens and down town to his small, dingy apartment alone had been difficult, but necessary. Stark did offer him a place at Avengers Tower (he was one of them after all) but Peter politely declined, feeling that he needed his own separate place, away from Spider Man and everything that went with him.

So the apartment, as cramped and begrimed as it was, became somewhat of a sanctuary. He had spent the last few months making it as hospitable as possible, carving out his own personal mark on the place, adding little touches here and there so when he came home after a long day like today, he would be able to unwind before going on patrol.

Rubbing at the creak in his neck, Peter dragged his weary body to the door and unlocked it, stepping in and dropping his book-bag to the floor, wrenching off his coat and scarf and pushing his glasses up on his nose with a deep sigh. He had been kept later at the lab than he intended (it seemed that Stark didn't care that Peter also had a million other things to do as well as help protect the city) all this week, and super endurance or not, it was taking its toll.

The only saving grace was that today was finally the day where he found out if his paper (the one he slaved over for the last three months) was to be published in the next issue's scientific journal. With an attentive grin, he scrambled over to the tiny round table that housed his laptop and quickly booted it up, his posture alight with a renewed nervous energy.

Biting his lip, the glow of the laptop basking his face, Peter typed in his email and password and waited with baited breath. His heart lurched as he saw the new email from his professor, his hand shaking slightly as he clicked on the subject line. Two hazel eyes rapidly scanned the email before a roar of elation burst from his chest, his fist rising in the air in triumph as it was confirmed he was going to be published.

_Maybe it was time he reconsidered his notion about hard work after all…_

"Keep it down in there!" an angered yell wafted in from behind the wall.

"Sorry Mr. Guggenheim," Peter called back, the moody old man not even being enough to wipe the ecstatic beam from his face.

After a few moments, when the initial elation began to subside, the familiar tingling sensation began licking at his skin like flames, the hairs on the back of his neck rising, alerting him to imminent trouble.

His whole body tensed as he stood up, keeping deadly still, trying to hear anything out of the ordinary. When all that greeted him was the muffled sounds of Mr. Guggenheim's nightly soap opera, Peter frowned, cautiously stepping over to the window and looking down into the street below.

The road was busy as usual, the pedestrians on the side-walk going about their business with no visible sign of distress. Running a hand through his hair, the young hero cast his glance upwards, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he tried to make out shapes in the darkness.

Tilting his head, Peter scanned the rooftops of the opposite buildings, his breath catching in his throat as a flash of red and black caught his attention.

"That can't be good…" he gaped as he ducked down, hardly believing the sight, frickin' Deadpool of all people, aiming a rifle straight at his building.

_How the hell does he know where I live?! How long has he been there? Oh god…did he see my face? _

Brain firing off potential half-baked worries and plots a mile a minute, Peter let his autopilot take over as he leapt into action, sprinting towards his bedroom to get his gear just as the first round of shots erupted into the front of the building.

With a yell, he threw himself to the floor, crawling on his stomach towards his closet. It was when his fingers were inches from his web-shooters that he realised that it wasn't his apartment that was under attack, after all.

This notion was confirmed when he hastily glanced around and found his room completely void of bullets. Heart hammering in his chest, he frantically weighed his options before snatching the web-shooters, throwing the hood from his Stark Industries sweatshirt up over his head and racing towards his door, wrenching it open wide.

The corridor was in complete chaos, his neighbours from all around screaming and running in every direction. Peter doubted even if he dressed up as a giant panda and starting doing the conga that anyone would take any notice of him. Guess that was the normal person's response to a hail of bullets sounding off a few feet from your home.

Jaw clenched, the hooded hero made his way to the door directly next to his, the apartment that was currently being leased to a salt-and-pepper haired guy that he only saw briefly and exchanged quick pleasantries with once or twice over the last few months.

Reaching out, Peter prepared to break down the door but had the foresight to check to see if it was unlocked first. When it creaked ajar slightly, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. The guy, Haynes, didn't seem like the type to leave his place unlocked even when home. But, now that he thought about it, he also didn't seem the type to warrant someone enlisting the services of a mentally unstable mercenary either.

The gunshots had ceased almost immediately after they started, the overall round lasting mere seconds. A heavy bout of dread settled in the pit of Peter's stomach when he reflected on what that could mean as he stepped into the dwelling, crouched and ready to attack, his nerve endings on fire.

Coming up empty, Parker kept low and tip-toed to the left, calling out quietly, "Mr. Haynes? It's Peter…from 24L. Are you here? Are you hurt?"

Dead silence rang in his ears as he crept through the bedroom.

Just as he was about to give up, race back to his place, don his suit, and high-tail it after the surely long-gone Deadpool, Peter caught sight of a crimson stain on the floor, illuminated by the bright moonlight streaming through the bullet-ridden window.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, the brunet skulked towards the agape bathroom door, pushing it open to reveal a bloodied cast-iron tub. Wincing at the crimson hand-print on the wall, Peter gingerly made his way towards the shower curtain, stealing himself for the worst as he quickly reefed it back to reveal…nothing.

The tub was empty, no sign of his surely injured neighbour.

Brow furrowing in confusion, the young man turned on the spot, his senses going into overdrive as he left the bathroom and went in search of the rest of the place.

He stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes landed on a large dry-erase board standing tall in the middle of the kitchen, a gun-holster hanging on the edge of it. His spidey-senses going wild, Peter's legs automatically dragged him to the object that peaked his interest, his hand reaching out to flip it over.

His jaw dropped, eyes widening, breath knocked from his lungs.

There, plastered to the board, were dozens and dozens of surveillance photos of him in various different places from the entrance of Stark labs, to outside his college, to the bus-stop across the street from his local coffee shop.

"Whoa…" a familiar voice behind him suddenly broke Peter's stunned silence, "looks like someone went all Rear Window on your ass. Ha! Get it? REAR Window! I know, I just heard what I said. I'm a riot!"

Whipping around, Peter was met with the sight of Deadpool leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, head cocked to the side as if in contemplation.

"Not that I can blame them. I mean, you are just darlin'," he continued with a fake southern-drawl, seemingly unfazed by his companion's combatant stance.

Peter took a step forward, keeping his face firmly in the shadows as his fingers itched towards the kitchen knives.

"Easy there, Harry Potter. No need to whip out your wand yet, we're just gettin' to know each other…" Wilson murmured, the smirk in his tone evident, an exaggerated wink unmistakeable as his mask moved with his face as it always seemed to.

"Where's…where's Mr. Haynes?" Peter asked, minding to lower his voice to try and modify it.

He and the merc with the mouth had come across one another before, even teamed up once or twice when the need arose, so he feared that his voice would give him away…that is, if Deadpool didn't see everything he needed to already.

"Mr. Haynes is…oh, how do I put this? Gone to the big pearly gates in the sky? Although, I suppose tryin' to assassinate an ass like yours would be considered a sin so…maybe he's gone down South?"

Peter's world ground to a halt as the mercenary's words rang in his ears.

_Mr. Haynes was trying to assassinate him?!_

"Not like Atlanta down South but like…the fire and brimstone kind, you know? Hey…kid? Yoo hoo, kid? You still in there?" Deadpool waved a hand in front of his face, somehow edging closer to him as Peter spaced out in shock.

_Had he really been that distracted that he didn't realize his own neighbour was surveying and possibly plotting to murder him?!_

"Guess Grad School really will be the death of me," he murmured under his breath absentmindedly.

"Oh hey, you talk to yourself too? Awesome!"

Peter shook his head, the gravity of the situation sinking into his veins. He only had Deadpool's word and a very creepy board to go on, but it was better than nothing at the moment. Apparently his neighbour had it in for him. Huh. And he'd seemed so…neighbourly.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. Namely, how Peter was gonna get the hell out of here with his identity, both secret and otherwise, intact.

"So…." Wilson was now whistling, his tone lowering an octave, clearly flexing his muscles under his spandex suit, "you come here often?"

Peter glanced about them.

"To my dead neighbour's apartment?"

"Touché."

A short silence fell between them.

"Hey," the merc spoke up, no doubt unable to keep quiet any longer, "so uh…how come you're not…you know, scared, and stuff?"

Words failed the brunet as he felt the other man's gaze glue to him.

Fortunately or unfortunately (depending how you looked at it) he was saved from trying to respond however as suddenly, a familiar tricking feeling rose up his spine a split second before something whizzed past his left ear.

"GET DOWN!" was the only head's up he got before Deadpool tackled him, their bodies colliding roughly as they slammed to the floor.

The wind was knocked from Peter's lungs as all of Wade's two hundred and ten pounds landed on his chest.

"I don't know who you are, handsome," the merc yelled into his ear over the hail of bullets, his breath bouncing off Peter's skin, "but someone sure as hell wants you deader than disco!"

**_Hang on—we were promised sex! Frottage, hand-jobs, blow-jobs, oh my! What gives, writer-lady?!_**

**It's coming, Deadpool—**

**_Ha, ha, coming._**

**It's a slow-build fic. But we'll get there. Hope you all liked the first instalment :)**


	2. Who Framed Wade Wilson?

**Say Anything…Except That**

**By Cortexikid**

**Chapter 2: Who Framed Wade Wilson?**

_**Wow, an update already? Someone's eager.**_

Last time I checked, that wasn't a bad thing, Deadpool.

_**Hey, if you say so. You still think the whole name-everything-after-movies-with-a-Deadpoolian-twist thing is a good idea, though?**_

You love Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

_**Uh, YEAH. Two words – Jessica Rabbit's Boobs.**_

That's three words.

_**And yet, the sentiment still stands…**_

**Also, 'Deadpoolian?'**

_**Just rolls off the tongue, don't it? I shoulda been a scholar!**_

* * *

><p>"Oh…fuck."<p>

If there were ever a phrase to sum up Wade Winston Wilson's existence, that'd be it.

"What now?"

If there were ever a phrase to sum up Peter Benjamin Parker's existence, it'd be that.

As the two men lay on the floor (well, Peter lay on the floor as Wade lay on him) each shouted their words over the deafening pop, pop, pop of bullets and shards of glass that sprayed down on them.

"Deadpool!" Peter growled angrily, forcing himself not to use his super strength to shove off the mercenary, "what is—"

A large gloved hand clapped over his mouth.

"Shut your beautiful face, Harry Potter!" Wade hissed before jerkily tilting his head to the right, the eyes of his mask widening almost comically.

_[Ha ha! 'Comically.' I see what she did there]_

_{It's not our Point of View Yet!}_

_[Right. My bad]_

Eyebrows furrowed, (and ignoring the overwhelming scent of nacho cheese emitting from the glove over his face) Peter looked to where Deadpool indicated, gaping in alarm at what greeted him. Under the sink, barely two feet from them, was a small, rectangular box with the black and red Deadpool logo, complete with pipes and wires sticking out of it, a digital clock ominously counting down in red glowing numbers.

5:45

5:44

5:43

"That's a bomb," Wade supplied him unnecessarily, "you know, the type that goes boom?"

Peter fixed him with a glare before wrenching the hand off his face.

"Ooh, we're already at the hand-holding stage? But we only just met!"

"Why the hell did you plant a bomb?!" Peter hissed.

"See, that's just the thing cutie, I didn't," Wade replied with a shrug before reaching up and pushing Peter's glasses up his nose.

_[Gasp! Someone's framing us]_

_{Did you seriously just make a glasses pun when someone's trying to pin a ton of murders on us?}_

_[Gotta get my kicks somehow]_

Secret-identity be damned, Peter shoved the merc off him easily (as he seemed to be off in his own world) before turning towards the bomb, frantic gaze watching as it continued to count down.

5:40

5:39

"You know, unless you wanna go all Harvey-Dent-Two-Face, I'd really advise against going near that."

_{Wrong franchise idiot!}_

_[We're Marvel, remember?]_

"What?" the brunet asked distractedly, not bothering to ask what the hell a Two Dent or whatever was, as he scrambled to figure out how to disarm the explosive.

"All I mean is," Wilson sighed, "that you wouldn't wanna ruin that jailbait mug of yours, so maybe you can, you know, skedaddle?"

At the younger man's non-response, the merc rolled his eyes.

_[You do gotta wonder what old batty would do in situations like this though, right?]_

_{WWBD?}_

"What _would_ Batman do?" Wade whispered, before clicking his fingers in triumph, yelling in a gravelly tone "I'M DEADPOOL" and leaping on Peter's back.

"Wha—!" the brunet exclaimed as the larger man half-strangled him, wrapping his arms around his chest and neck, and dragging him backwards.

"C'mon cutie, today's not the day for your schoolboy heroics, you gotta get that tight little ass outta here," he yelled as a bullet shot through the window and lodged in his shoulder.

"Let…me…g—"

"You know, you're surprisingly strong," Deadpool cut across Peter again, ignoring his choked protests and throwing open the apartment door.

"BOMB! BOMB IN THE BUILDING, EVERYBODY OUT!" he roared before reaching out with one hand to pull the fire-alarm on the wall, and using the other to give the shorter man one final shove before deftly turning on his heel, and slamming the door behind him.

Peter silently gawked at the entrance to 25L, his brain struggling to make sense of everything that had just transpired as his few remaining neighbours scrambled desperately down the corridor. It was a faint but frenetic scream that unglued his feet from the floor and powered him down ten flights of stairs, picking up a crying toddler in his arms, bursting out onto the street and into a large crowd of gawping bystanders, he the last person to exit the building it seemed.

He skidded to a halt, his eyes landing on the woman that had screamed for her child before holding the little boy out for her to take. He could only nod as the woman wept with thanks, clutching the boy to her chest.

Adrenaline surged in his veins as he turned to watch and wait in horror for his new home to come crumbling down before his eyes as the first slew of police and fire brigade arrived at the scene and began to cordon off the area and moving people to a safe distance, their red and blue lights flashing and basking each of his neighbours in a dazzling glow. Stood there on the street, Peter felt each second pass as if it were an eternity, this being the first time in a long while, since he started on his Spider Man crusade feeling as powerless as he did after his Uncle Ben's death.

These things weren't meant to happen. He couldn't afford Spider Man business to be dumped on his literal doorstep so unceremoniously on a good day, but now, with Deadpool in the mix, and he potentially knowing one or both of his identities, as well as someone clearly having it out for him to the point of hiring a guy to survey and possibly assassinate him, it became even more immobilising. He couldn't don his suit, couldn't have anyone link sightings of him in it near the apartment block, and yet, every ounce of his chemical make-up was screaming at him to do something, anything, to help Deadpool.

He couldn't explain it, and even though past experiences with the unstable man should have deterred him, Peter still believed the mercenary when he said that despite what it looked like, against everything that logic may have dictated, he really wasn't the one to plant the bomb.

And now, that same man, immortal or not, was stuck in the building with an unfamiliar explosive that was about to detonate and Peter had no idea if he had the skill (or frankly the mental stability) to disarm—

A thunderous boom jarringly shook him from his thoughts, the ground underneath his feet vibrating rapidly as smoke began to rise steadily from behind the building. Without a second's thought, Peter took off in a sprint towards the smoke, evading the police officers and letting the darkness engulf him.

Hopping the perimeter fence that led to an alley, he skid slightly as his sneakers met the slippery pavement. With a frown, he righted himself and took a step, wincing as he heard a sickening squelching sound under his foot.

Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he shone its light down and hissed at the dark crimson substance that covered his shoe, quickly stepping onto a dry point in the pavement with a shiver. His stomach lurched as he slowly forced himself to look further into the alley, eyes raking over the concrete walls that were now marred with the same substance, except a lot thicker.

"Oh my god…" he grimaced as he pointed his phone to the right and caught sight of a shadowed figure lying near what appeared to be a recently exploded dumpster, a trail of trash and carnage leading up to it.

Scrambling forward, Peter tried not to look at the blood, guts and yep…brain matter that scattered the ground and kneeled as close as he could to what remained of Deadpool's body.

"Jesus, Wade," the brunet gasped, his horrified gaze drinking in the charred and bloodied torso and head, trying to not linger on the fact that Wilson was missing three out of four limbs. His remaining left arm lay outstretched, barely still attached to his body, resting against the now destroyed dumpster.

As he surveyed the scene, Peter began to piece together what probably happened. The merc must have either been unable to disarm the bomb, or didn't have the tools or time, and instead opted to take it to an uninhabited area and have it detonate securely. Whether he even took his own safety (healing ability or not) into account when forming this hare-brained plan made Peter's heart sink a little in his chest.

And it was this feeling that he would hold fully accountable for his next decision…

* * *

><p>"All these chimichangas for little ol' me? Aww Death, you shouldn't have! Best threesome ever!" Wade murmured dreamily, turning over on his side and snuggling deeper into the warmth.<p>

_[Wakey wakey eggs and bakey]_

"No, not eggs, chimichangas! And sex!" the merc with the mouth argued as he began to regain consciousness.

_{Thought you said the best threesome ever would be us, Spidey and Tacos?}_

_[He'll take what he can get. Beggars can't be choosers]_

_{And he would beg}_

Wade let out a groan as he cracked open one eye and appraised his surroundings, his adrenaline spiking when he took in the white, blank walls.

_[Oh fuck]_

_{That seems to be the theme of the evening}_

With a jolt, Deadpool shot up out of bed, hands immediately flying to his face, relieved to feel his mask still intact, but completely ignoring the fact that he was otherwise completely naked, his left leg only partially restored, and began hopping across the room.

_[Huh. Guess the Roger Rabbit parallel could work as a name for this chapter, after all]_

_{And you doubted her}_

"Shaddup," he growled, up turning the only furniture in the room (a bedside table) and kicking it until it splintered and he was left with a make-shift weapon, seeing as his prized katanas were missing from his arsenal.

_[Speaking of ARSEnal, how do you plan to get outta here in your birthday suit, big boy?]_

_{Americans don't say arse}_

_[We're Canadian]_

_{It's more of a British thing}_

_[Still a funny word]_

"Whoever's out there should revel at the opportunity to see my rockin' bod," Wade interrupted, flexing his guns, pleased to find them just as massive as he remembered.

_[They're not the only thing that's massive]_

"I know right?" he leered, looking down at himself, "they should write poetry about my dic—"

_{We were talking about your ego}_

Before Deadpool could let out the burst of indignation that was welling in his chest, the sound of a click caught his attention before the handle of the door began to turn.

Leaping back behind the bed, the merc adopted a combatant stance, holding up the sharp piece of wood, ready to strike.

A mop of brown hair appeared around the door, before a familiar and handsome face came into view.

Deadpool had half a second to witness the utter shock, quickly followed by the rush of blood to pale cheeks register on the cute brunet, forming an adorable blush, before he clapped a hand over his eyes and let out a yell.

"OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!"

Wade lowered the piece of wood and shrugged, "hey, I'm the one that woke up here, shouldn't I be asking you that? Perv."

That got his attention.

Slowly, hands lowered from the man's face, but his eyes remained firmly closed behind his black-rimmed glasses.

"I just—I thought…when you…regenerate, that maybe your clothes did too," he murmured lamely.

"Regenerate? Who am I, the Doctor?" Wade scoffed, folding his arms across his chest, not caring if the other man couldn't see his obvious offense at the term.

_[That's right, we know sci-fi]_

_{We're down with the kids}_

"Golden Girls is still the best though," the merc conceded.

"What?" the brunet asked, confused at his completely random statement apropos of nothing.

"Okay, okay, you gotta tell me your name or somethin' kid, 'cause this whole the 'other man' and 'brunet' thing is kinda gettin' on my nerves," Deadpool groused, watching him carefully.

The frown on his face deepened, a line forming between his eyebrows as his lids remained firmly shut.

"Uh…call me…Harry," he murmured.

"No way, your name's actually Harry? And you look like that? Man, you must have gotten so much shit growin' up," Wade scoffed.

_{You're one to talk. You got your name 'cause some writers thought it'd be funny to say you're related to Deathstroke}_

_[And it rhymes with Slade]_

_{That too}_

"Can you uh…like cover up…or something so I can open my eyes?" 'Harry' interrupted the conversation his boxes had started, still standing with his arms tight at his sides, fists clenched.

"You sure?" Wade asked with a teasing hilt to his tone, "because there's nothing better than a naked house guest to brighten anyone's day…"

"It's midnight, and no, I'm good thanks," 'Harry' retorted.

"If you insist," Wade sighed, dragged his two now fully-formed feet over to the bed and plonking down, pulling the sheet up to cover his waist.

_[Why are there quotation marks around 'Harry?']_

_{Because we don't actually think that's his name}_

_[Right. That's way too much of a coincidence. This kid is so not the best liar]_

After a moment, 'Harry's' eyes opened, he blinking owlishly into the dimly lit room and breathed a visible sigh of relief at seeing his house guest at least somewhat descent.

"I uh…I can get you some clothes…I mean, they'll be a tight fit but it's better than—"

"My gorgeous figure distracting you?" Deadpool smirked, throwing him his patented exaggerated wink.

Another adorable flush tinted 'Harry's' cheeks before he shook his head and cleared his throat, a flash of irritation crossing his features.

"Just…wait there until I get back. Don't…go anywhere. We need to talk," he grumbled, before turning on his heel and walking back out into the hallway.

Deadpool shrugged, laying back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head and looking up to the ceiling.

It was only then that he began to really reflect on the events of the evening, more and more questions about this strange guy popping up with every passing second.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded from just outside the door, 'Harry's' voice travelling quietly into the room: "okay so I only had—"

"So someone hired me to take out a guy that was tryin' to kill you," Wade interrupted him, sitting up in the bed again, facing him.

When all he was met with was silence, he continued: "so I did. I mean, it's what I do, what I'm really fuckin' good at, and the pay was great, so why not?" he threw up his hands and tilted his head, fixing the other man with a completive stare.

"So yeah, I unalive the guy, only to find that you, even in all the panic, decided to go Nancy Drew-ing around the place and stumble across yet another guy trying to assassinate your ass from across the street? A vantage point that couldn't have been too far from mine. So, I do what any good hot-blooded-male would do, I save the damsel in distress by throwing them to the ground, because hey, any chance to have my fine body cover your fine body, only to find that a fucking bomb with my logo on it has been planted to level the whole goddamn building? To kill one puny guy? I mean really, even that's just over kill, even by my standards…" Wade trailed off, clutching the sheet to his waist and standing up, taking a step towards 'Harry.'

"And as if that wasn't enough, you then seem completely unfazed by a bomb, even believe me—a goddamn mercenary, when I say it wasn't mine, and try to fucking disarm it without batting an eyelid while any other sane person would have run for the hills screaming—"

_{Like you can comment on anything an actual sane person would do}_

_[Stop he's on a roll!]_

"Only to THEN find me blasted to chunks finer than taco meat, bring me back here and are not even the slightest bit freaked out that I'm like…you know…walking, talking, and gracing your eyelids with my epic naked man-bits?"

Wade paused, bringing his face down inches from the other man's, chocolate eyes reaching hazel.

"So, to review," he smirked, "you run to danger when anyone else would flee, to try to disarm a bomb that could or could not have been planted by me, you just taking me at my word, then you find me in pieces and bring me back here, knowing about my healing factor and are not one bit freaked out by it…"

Wade's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on how the other man had appeared to stop breathing, his dark orbs flickering behind his glasses.

"Which leaves me with just one question for you 'Harry,'" the mercenary murmured, taking that last step so that he had the shorter man caught between his body and the wall:

"Who the hell are you really?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>I'm so fucking awesome. Look at me being all Sherlock Holmes-y.<strong>_

Yeah, for the purposes of this story, you're astute.

_**What do you mean 'for the purposes of this story?' I'll have you know, I'm always a goddamn genius! **_

Didn't you just try to use one of your katanas as a Q-Tip?

**…**

_**Fuck you.**_


	3. Deadpool Poets' Society

**Say Anything…Except That**

**By Cortexikid**

**Chapter 3: Deadpool Poets' Society**

**A/N: So sorry for the late update. My beautiful dog Toby passed away, so I've been having a hard time. I named him that because when he was born I was watching Spider-Man and thought to myself that out of Peter (after Peter Parker) and Toby (after Tobey Maguire), the latter sounded much more like a dog's name (no offence to any human Tobeys out there)** **and the rest was history. He really was the most amazing and gentle dog and I love and miss him very much.** ** Anyway, it's all just fresh in my mind as I write this story, so thanks for your patience. Hope you enjoy the chapter.**

Peter's breath caught in his throat as Wade's eyes narrowed, his features morphing conspiratorially.

"Which leaves me with just one question for you, _Harry_," he murmured, taking another step towards him, closing the space between them even further.

The shorter man fought the urge to swallow nervously as their gazes met.

"Who the hell are you really?"

Peter could practically see the hamster halt in its wheel within his head like a cartoon. If he were in a cheesy sitcom, the screeching scratch of a record would have also rang in his ears. For the first time in recent memory, words failed him.

As the silence continued to stretch between them, Wade began to impatiently tap his foot on the floor, it reverberating around the room at a steady rhythm.

"Any time today would be nice," he groused, glancing at the non-existent watch on his wrist.

"Uh…" was the younger man's highly intelligible reply, as he scrambled for something, anything to say, his eyes drinking in his now destroyed bedside table.

It was then that he realized two things. One, he would need to make another hellish trip to Ikea, and two, Deadpool was in his home. Deadpool. Wade Wilson. The Merc With The Mouth. The man whom he'd met five years previously and had both fought against and beside over that time. The man he had sat on a few rooftops with, eating hot-dogs or tacos after a long day. The same man who had the innate ability to both irritate and amuse him, who he had been furious at many a time, but also couldn't find someone quite like him to exchange witty banter with. He was in Peter's new home. His abode that was full to the brim with everything that made Peter…Peter. Spider-Man he could hide (unless Wade went rummaging in his closet), but Peter? There was no hiding him…

"I'm Peter," he blurted out before he could think about it too much, "…Peter Parker," he finished, extending his hand for Wade to shake.

The man in question looked down at it as if he had never seen a hand before and wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with it.

_[Oh I have a few ideas of what we could do with it… *wink*]_

_{You shouldn't have to say 'wink.' That's why God invented emojis}_

_{Also, it's not our Point Of View Yet!}_

"Peter…Parker…" Wade tried the name out on his tongue, "Peter, Peter, Peter. Parker, Parker, Parker," he chewed on the words as if trying to taste them, his mouth no doubt doing ridiculous actions from under his mask.

"That's me," Peter tried and failed to sound nonchalant, wanting to take back the words instantly, his nerves frayed, his brain screaming at him _WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE!? _as he fought the urge to fidget under the merc's scrutinizing gaze, trying not to think about what his reaction could be.

"Huh. You look like a Peter," was all Wade said with a shrug, "still think Harry would have suited you better, though. Your parents kinda dropped the ball on that one."

The brunet cleared his throat at those words, "yeah, well…uh, anyway—"

"Hold up," the mercenary interrupted with a wave of his hand for what felt like the millionth time that night, "so, I know you're someone called Peter Parker now sure but…that still doesn't explain everything else."

Peter frowned at him, arms folding across his chest in subconscious defense.

"Oh don't look at me like that," Deadpool admonished with a scoff, gesturing to the other man's face, "just 'cause you're pretty, doesn't mean I'm gonna conveniently forget what happened here tonight."

_{Unless you do}_

_[It is up to writer lady, of course]_

"What's your deal, Peter?" the merc continued, ignoring his boxes. "You ain't just some ordinary college kid, that's for sure."

Peter tried not to let the surprise show on his face.

"You're…more astute than your reputation would have the general public believe."

Wade shrugged, "yeah well, I'm crazy. Not stupid. Despite what people think, they're not mutually exclusive."

He had a point there. Over the years, Spider Man had seen just how violent, risky, and plain bat-shit crazy Deadpool could be at any given moment, but he could never accuse the man of being an idiot. Unless it had something to do with social interaction…then all bets were off. One night in particular where the man got into a 'fist fight' with The Hulk over who could growl the loudest, stuck out in his mind. But, airs and (lack) of graces aside, Peter knew that Wade was far too inquisitive (boarding on nosey) and well, paranoid, for him to continue lying about who he was.

So he went with the half-truth to avoid the other man digging further into him and potentially revealing his secret. Really, it was the lesser of two evils.

Sure, he could know that he is Peter Parker, employee of Tony Stark, perpetually-exhausted grad student, and part-time photographer of all things Spider Man.

But there was no need for him to know (and indeed no way he could content the dots) that overworked and unpaid Pete was the web-slinger himself.

That was Peter's logic (to use the term loosely) and he was stickin' to it. No pun intended.

"Okay…" he sighed, brain racing a mile a minute to figure out how he was carefully going to word this without arousing suspicion, "you're right, I'm not just an ordinary college student, at least, I don't want to be…"

A silence met his words. Wade's gaze bore into his, head tilted a little to one side.

"What are you, pausing dramatically now? Spit it out already, kid!"

Never let it be said that Peter Parker didn't know how to set a scene.

"I'm not just an ordinary student…" he repeated, walking around the other man and towards the window to gather his thoughts before turning to face him again.

"I…I also work in Stark Industries. I-I'm around Tony Stark a lot. Tony Frickin' Stark. Iron Man! Captain America has even dropped in on occasion. Captain Steve Rogers has stood across from me! I have been in the same room as legends…" he trailed off again, keen orbs aware of Wade's growing interest at his not-so-casual name-dropping.

Throwing up his arms, Peter went into full fanboy mode, knowing that that would appeal to the merc, who didn't hide his hero-worship of The Avengers all-too-well in the past.

(He had a hand-print on his ass for three days to prove it)

"I mean, you know what it's like, right? To be around these amazing people, to witness all the great and wondrous things they do? Except…you have it even better than me. You have fought beside them! Got to do heroic things with them! And I—" he broke off, lowering his head, "I don't have any powers or skills. I can only dream about doing something like that. So…so when the opportunity sorta fell into my lap today I—I jumped at the chance of doing something even as half as heroic as them."

_[I'd like to fall into his lap]_

_{POINT. OF. VIEW!}_

_[Whatever.]_

_Wade hummed in_ response, sounding neither convinced nor unconvinced, stepping over to the bed at sitting down, the sheet riding a little lower on his abdomen than before, exposing even more muscle that lay beneath the newly-fitted yet heavily scarred skin.

Peter desperately ignored that fact as he continued, making sure his gaze didn't fall below eye-level as he hushed his voice to a wistful murmur, "and after all these years of working for The Daily Bugle and taking photos of Spider Man—"

"You're the guy that takes pictures of Spidey?" Wilson interjected, "dude, you're good! I've gotten pics you took on my wall! I can't tell you how many times I've yanked my chain looking at—"

Peter stumbled backwards a little, hoping his face didn't look as scandalized as he felt, heat rising in his face.

"Uh anyway," he cleared his throat, trying to banish images of Deadpool doing anything but standing near a picture of him from his mind, "being an ordinary guy around all those…heroes…I think I just got a little carried away with trying to actually be one today. I know it was stupid but—"

"I get it, man," Wade held up his hand, "trust me, I get it."

The honesty in his voice, laced with something a lot deeper, made Peter's stomach give a little jolt.

Another silence passed between them. In all their interactions as Deadpool and Spider Man, Peter couldn't remember this much blank space between them, this many unsaid words. The banter was usually rapid fire and sometimes razor sharp, but now it felt almost…an afterthought. It seemed Wade and Peter were slightly different than their alter-egos after all.

"Hey, wanna hear my Spider Ass haikus?"

Well, maybe Wade wasn't all that different.

"Uh…what?" the bespectacled man asked, terrified by the response, but also morbidly intrigued at the merc's sudden proposal. (So help him.)

"You know, haikus about Spider Man's ass. What about that wasn't self-explanatory?" Wilson asked, as if it were perfectly understandable, waving his hand dismissively, looking around him, not as keen to hold eye contact, it seemed.

Peter stared at him, unwilling or unable to do much else.

"I'm somewhat of a Spider Man aficionado," Wade continued, despite the non-response, an excited gleam in his eye, yet still managing to avoid his companion's.

_Was he…nervous?_

The dread in Peter's stomach rose.

"It's a tough job but someone's gotta do it," Deadpool mused before cracking his knuckles, clearing his throat, letting his eyes fall closed and waving his hands theatrically:

"Spider Man you are

So good, heroic and true.

But wow, that ass though."

Here, the aspiring poet paused, his body tense as he slowly cracked open an eye.

Peter was frozen to the spot, not for the first time wondering how this was indeed his life.

_Did he want feedback? _

"Uh—"

"Spiderman's assets

Are his webs, fists, and booty

The last most lethal."

"Wade—"

"Oh Spidey's round ass

Tortures me so sweetly that

I'd gladly never die."

A shrill ring sounded throughout the room, effectively cutting off 'Wade Whitman' before he could begin another carefully-crafted haiku.

_Saved by the fucking bell_, Peter couldn't help but think as he hastily dug his hand in his pocket, retrieving his cell phone, his heart hammering as a picture of Aunt May flashed across the screen.

"Uh that was…something…" he murmured distractedly, not looking at the man on the bed, forcing himself not to run to the door, "I just—I gotta take this!" he finished, before wrenching it open and stepping out into the hallway without a backwards glance.

Wade watched the brunet leave in a flurry, eyebrows raised.

"You think he liked it?"

_{Let's just say he probably wouldn't support you ever quitting your day job}_

_[True. That last line was six syllables. Idiot.]_

**A/N: So, sorry it's a little shorter, but that's all I'm really up to writing at the moment, under my current circumstances. The next update will most certainly be much longer, with a lot more plot development. Thanks for your understanding. To make up for the brevity, below is a small snippet of the next chapter. Also, Peter and Wade's conversation is not over. Just postponed. Wade got distracted by his love of ass haikus. ~Ck**

**NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:**

"**I'm blue da ba dee da…" Wade sang as Peter hid a smirk behind his hand.**

**{Our younger readers probably won't get half of these references}**

"**They saw Iron Man 3, didn't they?! It's like the first song from that kiddies…right before he boinks the hot scientist chick that dies at the end."**

**[WHOA. SPOILER ALERT!]**

"**Oh like there's anyone here who hasn't seen that movie by now."**


	4. The Bodyguard: Starring Peter Parker and

**Say Anything…Except That**

**By Cortexikid**

**Chapter 4: The Bodyguard, Starring Peter Parker and Wade Wilson**

_**Ooh yeah, it's good to be back, baby!**_

It's only been six days, Deadpool.

_**Six whole days and still no sex! Instead you insist on all this plot-development bullshit. I'm dyin' here!**_

You can't die.

_**That's what I thought too…but apparently those bastards at Marvel are doin' me in for good in April. I'll be kickin' the bucket, pushin' up daisies, finally puttin' the 'dead' in Deadpool…oh the travesty!**_

You're being a bit dramatic aren't—

_**And all I want as my dying wish is for you to hurry up already and let me and Spidey get it on!**_

Well, the sooner _I get on_ with the 'plot-development bullshit' the sooner you and Spidey can have some sexy times. Promise.

_**Well, in that case, can I get you anything? Nachos? Water? Karma Sutra for research purposes?**_

* * *

><p>"I'm gonna swing from the chan-de-lier, from the chan-de-lier…I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist, like it doesn't exist…I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry! I'm gonna swing from the chan-de-lier, from the chan-de-lier…"<p>

Peter Parker glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, wincing at what could only be described as tone-deaf screeching omitted from behind it.

Just when he thought it couldn't possibly get worse than haikus about his ass…

"Honey, what is that? Is someone singing? Do you have company?!" the excited voice of his Aunt May wafted from the phone cradled in his hand.

"Uh—"

"Oh Peter, I'm so glad you've made a friend! I worry about you in that tiny apartment all alone with only your work to keep you company. It doesn't do a person any good to coop themselves up like that," she began her well-worn opinion on his social life (or lack thereof) as her nephew fought not to sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes tightly shut behind his glasses.

"I know Aunt May, I know. I've just been busy—"

"And I couldn't be prouder of you, sweetheart. But, you know what they say, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!"

"I couldn't agree more, Aunt May! Poor Petey needs to play some more," a new innuendo-laced voice agreed loudly, startling Peter violently, his hazel eyes popping open as he stumbled back against the wall.

There in front of him, leaning very nonchalantly against his bedroom doorframe, stood the newly dressed Deadpool, Peter's sweatpants at least three inches too short on his muscular legs, his marred ankles clearly visible, and his t-shirt stretched tightly across his chest, riding up his abdomen and exposing the scarred skin that lay underneath.

Waving angrily at him to get the hell back into the room, Peter grit his teeth and forced his tone into a pseudo cheery tone: "I uh…gotta go Aunt May, I—"

"Oh your friend sounds delightful, Peter! And he's right of course, you do need to relax more. I'll let you two get back to whatever you were doing. Call you tomorrow, love you!" May Parker rambled hurriedly and promptly hanging up on him before he could get a word in edgewise.

The brunet stood in his corridor staring dumbly at his cell phone for at least fifteen seconds before the not-so-subtle clearing of a throat caught his attention. Heaving what he knew would be only the first of many sighs to follow, he turned on the spot to face his house guest who tilted his head and pointed at him.

"You like Mexican food? You look like a guy that likes Mexican food…"

* * *

><p>A shiver ran up the spine of Joseph 'Buck Shot' Blye as he lit a cigarette, taking a decent drag of it and staring up into the night sky. It was rare in New York, that the stars shone so brightly visible, but there was a change in the air tonight, a shift in atmosphere in the very spot where he stood, cigarette in one hand and M24 rifle in the other.<p>

He couldn't explain it but…this wasn't what he expected when he had first taken the job. He was still new to this gig. The rookie, really, although he'd rather die than admit it. It had been his cousin Gio that had recommended him, knowing that the kid was gifted at what he did, but as he stood there, head tilted back, leaning against his car, he couldn't help but dwell on his failure.

Gio had been vague about the exact details of the hit, bar the name and location of the target, but Joe knew above all else, that a live target was never a good thing. And he was still alive.

Peter Benjamin Parker.

The twenty-four year-old grad student and research assistant at Stark Industries.

Hell, the kid was only a couple of years younger than him. Joe didn't know what he did to piss off the boss, but whatever it was, got him a bullet to the brain.

Except, Joe missed.

In his sophomore year of wasting those who needed to be wasted, Blye had never missed his target. It may take more than a magazine or two, but when all was said and done, the target was well and truly dead, no matter who they were, where they were, or what they were doing.

As it happened, tonight's lucky winner was holed up in a shitty apartment building down town, tired after a long day at work. He didn't really fit Joe's regular marks, in age, socio-economic background or status, but despite only being in the business two years, Joe learned quickly not to ask questions.

When you got a name, you erased that name.

End of story.

Except this time.

"The boss will see you now," a gruff voice called from his left, snapping him from his reverie by snatching the gun off his shoulder and turning on his heel.

With a nod, Joe flicked away the cigarette before following the beefy guy he thought was called Mike, towards the dirty steel door, leading into a giant warehouse, his only sense of comfort being the glock (that he had lifted from a cop he wasted a while ago) that was safely tucked into the back of his jeans.

He had never met the boss before.

A steady stream of bile tried to claw its way out of his throat at the thought of what could be in store for him. Not many got to meet the boss (hell, he didn't even know the guy's name) but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was a probably better for his health if he didn't.

Well, too late now.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Joe forced his feet forward, stepping further into the gloom, the darkness engulfing him.

He could feel dozens of eyes on him as he shuffled past hundreds of wooden containers and towards a desk standing in the middle of the dusty, dank room, the creak of a chair drawing his eyes up to whoever sat behind it.

"Joseph Blye," a deep, almost robotic voice greeted, its owner's face still basked in shadows, "come, sit."

Forcing his shaking hands out of his pockets, the young man came to a stop beside a solitary chair and sat down, narrowing his eyes, trying and failing to identify any features belonging to the person opposite him.

"I'll cut to the chase," the voice continued, "Peter Parker is still breathing. Care to explain to me why that is?"

The tension in the room shot up several degrees at those words.

Joe's swallowed deeply, his throat feeling as dry and coarse as sandpaper, a bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Uh I—"

"You came highly recommended by your cousin, Gio," the voice cut across him, the creak of a chair punctuating the sentence as the boss leaned back in their chair.

"Yes sir," Blye managed to croak, another chill rising up his spine as he caught movement coming from his left.

"I find that that recommendation may have been…less than accurate regarding your capabilities," the boss continued, the mechanical voice setting his teeth on edge.

"Sir I…since I began working for you, this is the first time that I—"

"Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

A heavy silence descended on the room.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Blye, in our line of work…this type of grievous error can't even be only a one-time thing…" the voice trailed off as the man that was approaching from Joe's left reached the desk and lay down a large box on it.

Joe's eyes flickered to the box before staring back into the darkness above it, giving up on trying to see anything.

"Sir…there were unforeseen circumstances—"

"Ah, yes. Deadpool. I heard he killed Groves," the boss interjected as if commenting on the weather and not the death of an employee, "shame, really. His alias as Parker's unsuspecting neighbour really was the perfect cover."

Joe shifted uneasily in his chair, bothered by how much the disembodied voice was unnerving him.

"Thanks to Wade Wilson's histrionics and actual ability to hit the target he was paid to," the voice paused to let the shame wash over Blye, "we now must figure out who ordered the hit on Groves, as well as dealing with your little mess."

The young man sat forward in his chair, trying to ignore the hilt of desperation in his tone as he pleaded: "give me just one more chance boss, and I swear I'll get him. He stops at a coffee shop every Saturday before work, I can hit him there, no problem!"

Another short pause met him before a gloved hand reached out of the darkness and pushed the box across the desk and towards him.

"See that there isn't, Mr. Blye. Perhaps this…will provide the proper incentive."

Heart hammering in his chest, Joe wet his lips nervously, before shakenly standing up and laying a sweating palm on the lid of the box.

An eerie calm hung over the large warehouse as he pulled back the lid, a loud gasp escaping his throat as his wide gaze was met with his cousin Gio's bloody severed head, his haunted eyes forever frozen in his last and surely terrifying moment.

"You have 72 hours…"

* * *

><p>"Help me I'm holdin' on for dear life, won't look down, won't open my eyes, keep my glass full until morning light," Wade sang as he sauntered around Peter's apartment, eyes scanning every inch of the laughingly small living space, stealing a hoodie from off an armchair and throwing it over his head, pulling down the sleeves over his arms.<p>

"You really like that song," the bespectacled beaut commented drily as he continued to dish out the giant order of Mexican food he was forced into buying, trying not to dwell on how his favourite hoodie was now impossibly stretched forever.

_{Yeah, and it's so 2014 too}_

_[Keep up with the times, old man]_

"Well, we were talkin' about Spidey and…that song always reminds me of him," Wade replied with a shrug, his voice a little softer than usual as he ignored his boxes and studied the bookcase to his left.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter still, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"And why does it remind you of him?"

_[Yeah, it's not like the boy-scout is secretly a party girl]_

_{Pity. We could have gotten the chance to see Spidey Gone Wild}_

"It has the word 'swinging' in it. And it was either think of Spidey or those old folk swingers trying to re-live the 60s," Wade smirked as he plonked down at the table, rolling up his mask over his mouth and immediately beginning to inhale a taco at an alarming rate.

_[So when do you think it'll hit him that he's not self-conscious eating around this kid for some reason?]_

_{Probably around the time he remembers who this kid actually is}_

_[He never is his most astute when food's within the immediate vicinity]_

Peter gaped at him as he continued to wolf down his Mexican cuisine, before heaving a sigh, taking a seat and opening his laptop.

It was here where Wade was again struck by just how weird everything about this kid was.

"So…what?" he spoke over chewing his food, spitting morsels everywhere, "you just gonna sit there on your computer and act like it's totally normal for you to invite an insanely famous mercenary over for dinner?"

_[Insane? Yes. Famous? Not so much.]_

_{Deadshot you are not}_

_[He may be DC, but he's AWESOME]_

_{How's that inferiority complex workin' out for ya?}_

"Pssh, I'd annihilate that cyclops," Wade murmured under his breath.

_[Ooh. We're goin' with Arrow's version? Cool.]_

_{Writer lady does love her some Arrow}_

Hazel eyes rose from the computer screen, raking over his sauce-covered mouth for a moment before meeting his gaze.

"Technically, I didn't invite you anywhere," Peter responded to his previous statement, seemingly ignoring Wade's quieter comments, giving his own shrug before focusing back on his laptop.

_{Touché}_

_[I like to touch his touché}_

"Potato, tomato," Deadpool dismissed with a wave, digging into his forth taco, before scooting closer to the younger man, right into his personal space and trying to see the screen.

"Whatcha lookin' at anyway, nerd?"

The brunet rolled his eyes, leaning back a little before gesturing to the video in front of them.

"It's the breaking news report on what happened tonight. My…aunt called, said she saw it on the news. I-I managed to convince her it was a different apartment block…she worries."

Wade could tell by Peter's face that he was surprised at himself for willingly offering up such information to someone like him.

_{Maybe the kid isn't so bright, after all}_

_[Shame. He really rocks the chic geek vibe]_

"That all you gonna eat?" Wade asked, just for something to say, gesturing to Peter's solitary and now limp taco, opting not to comment on the kid's personal life, feeling neither bothered nor prepared to do so.

"Gotta watch my figure," the brunet quipped rapidly without ungluing his eyes from the article he was reading.

_[I'd watch that figure all day long]_

_{Of course this kid is snarky. Just when we thought he couldn't get any cuter}_

"You got a TV or what?" Deadpool looked around the room, noticing for the first time what was conspicuously absent.

Peter shifted a little in his seat, not meeting his eye.

"Uh no, sorry. There's just…my laptop. I have a few DVDs—"

"Ooh Avatar!" Wade exclaimed suddenly, spotting the movie in question lying beside a few other DVDs on the bookshelf before hurrying over to it.

"I'm blue da ba dee da…" he sang as he picked it up.

_{Our younger readers probably won't get half of these references}_

"They saw Iron Man 3, didn't they?! It's like the first song from that kiddies…right before he boinks the hot scientist chick that dies at the end."

_[WHOA. SPOILER ALERT!]_

"Oh like there's anyone here who hasn't seen that movie by now."

He could feel Peter's eyes on him as he continued to talk to his boxes, and not for the first time that night did he question just how it was that he felt so… almost comfortable (or as close as he could get anyway) around this perfect stranger.

_[Perfect's definitely the word, alright]_

The niggling doubts about everything that had transpired tonight refused to go away though, and before he knew it, Wade was turning on his heel and half yelling at the other man.

"Seriously though, kid. You've done great so far at avoiding the question but, what is your deal? Don't think I've forgotten how fuckin' weird this whole situation is, even for me. You're far too…I don't know…familiar with me and my zany antics. I mean, you didn't even flinch when you saw my…" he trailed off, again yanking down the sleeve of the borrowed hoodie, wishing he could summon the fake confidence he had managed to convey when the other man had walked in on him naked merely an hour before.

"After seeing you blown to bits by a bomb, not much could make me flinch," the brunet replied evenly, standing up and walking towards him, "and it's like I said before…I—I have worked with Tony Stark, and met Captain America and Dr. Banner…I guess I'm just not as star stuck as I used to be."

_[Ouch]_

_{How he wounds us}_

"Okay, fine. You're not star struck by my mere presence," Wade shrugged, trying and failing not to feel affronted as he crossed his arms and stared the guy down, "but how exactly did you manage to get me back here without losing your lunch?"

"Who says I didn't?" Peter fired back, "you wanted to know if that was all I was eating?" he paused gesturing to the still uneaten taco on the table, "well, truth is…it's kinda hard to focus on food when I had to help carry and reassemble pieces of a man like some grotesque puzzle a little over an hour ago."

_{He speaks sense}_

_[More than you ever do, anyway]_

The two men breathed heavily into each other's space, they standing much closer than before, having gravitated during the argument, realizing that they both got a little more carried away than they originally intended, and taking a step back from one another.

"And you're…you're just okay with me hanging out? Forcing you to order Mexican food and wearing your clothes and going through your stuff?" Deadpool asked, unadulterated disbelief in his tone as the two men continued to stare at one another.

Suddenly, it hit Peter like a freight train.

Wade wasn't used to this.

He wasn't used to an ordinary person (or super one, really) treating him…kindly. To Peter, it may have been just re-paying the man who had saved his life tonight, but to Wade, who (if what Peter could remember of his past was correct) seldom was shown any respect, let alone gratitude and genuine concern, it was just too much.

His heart panged in his chest.

Still, he had to say something more substantial to make his story more believable or Wade wouldn't let it go and then who knows where they could end up.

"Look," Peter held up his hands, his brain racing a mile a minute as he made up an excuse on the spot, hoping it'd be enough to damper suspicion, "this has been one hell of a crazy night and…and truthfully, I'm never one hundred per cent normal, anyway, so I'm not likely to have your run-of-the-mill reaction to anything. But that being said—someone is still trying to kill me. And fuck me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't it be in my best interest to keep around a trained mercenary, crazy or not, just in case that someone decides to come back?"

_[Does that mean we get to fuck him?]_

_{Unfortunately, nope. Thinking about it, it's totally in his best interest to keep us around}_

_[Really?]_

_{Either that or he ends up like swiss cheese when that sniper comes back}_

_[Good point]_

Peter watched intently as Wade seemed to battle against himself, before eventually, a little bit of tension in his body drained a little.

"So, does that mean you're hiring me as your body guard, Whitney Houston?"

Humour. Good. Peter could work with humour.

"Only if you're up for it, Kevin Costner."

_[Oh we're up for anything]_

"Well, I guess that just leaves us with one more thing to sort out then," the merc smirked, clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

_[Payment?]_

_{Oh I've a feeling that saving his fine ass could be payment enough}_

_[And more tacos!]_

"And what would that be?" Peter was almost too afraid to ask, it dawning on him that he had probably reached the point of no return. He was so going to regret this.

With a chuckle, Wade leaned forward, his nose barely an inch from the shorter man's.

"The sleeping arrangements," he winked, "you a cuddler, Petey Pie? You look like a cuddler…I call little spoon!"

* * *

><p>AN: So yeah, slow build is fun. But the pace will pick up a little after this.

_**So…sex?**_

Soon, Deadpool. Geez, and they say romance is dead.

_**Hey, I'm plenty romantic! I will romance the pants off Petey!**_

_**[That's the idea]**_

Oh and if you want you can find me on Tumblr over at octoberobserver!

_**[Shameless self-promotion is shameless]**_

_**NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:**_

"_**Cap, he…kinda doubts your commitment to…you know…saving people."**_

"_**Yeah well, sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion!"**_


	5. Deadpool Darko

**Say Anything…Except That**

**By Cortexikid**

**Chapter 5: Deadpool Darko**

Tony Stark was a man known for many things. His fame, fortune, genius intellect, innovative inventions and sexual prowess, to name but a few. But if there was one thing that anyone who knew Iron Man himself was not in the least known for, it was patience.

"Where the hell is that kid?!"

This morning, it seemed, would not be the morning he miraculously found some.

"Sleeping upside down on the ceiling or somethin' probably," Clint Barton shrugged as he straightened up after taking his shot in pool, a smirk creeping onto his face as Natasha rolled her eyes at him.

"That's bats, genius. Not spiders," she deadpanned, deftly syncing three balls into the corner pocket before tilting her head at him, her eyes ablaze with challenge.

Barton merely shrugged again, signing 'same difference' with a wave of his hand and taking a swig from his beer.

"It's 8am," Bruce Banner commented with folded arms, eyeing the archer's beverage of choice with a frown.

"Any time is happy hour when you haven't been to bed yet," Clint winked just as Steve entered the room, halting just shy of his irate teammate.

"I take it by Mr. Sunshine's mood here that Peter still hasn't shown?"

A chorus of grumbles met his ears.

"Perhaps the arachnid is in hibernation?" their Asgardian colleague piped up from his perch at the breakfast bar, hands laden with a mound of toast and pancakes, maple syrup dripping down his fingers, his cheeks akin to that of a chipmunk, stuffed full of food as he munched happily.

"That's bears," Romanov shook her head at Thor, before potting the black ball, smirking at Clint and reaching over for the remote to the giant television that hung on the wall, rapidly clicking through the two thousand channels.

"Technically, spiders can—" Bruce began and abruptly broke off at the sight of Natasha's quirked eyebrow, "uh, never mind."

Steve took a step towards Tony who was clutching his cell phone and glaring at it as if it personally offended him.

"He needs to be debriefed about what he missed at the Shield meeting. You did ask him to join us this morning, didn't you?"

Stark whipped around, ready to chew the Cap out, when he suddenly faltered, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, as he muttered: "I'm not his damn babysitter. I don't see how it's my responsibil—"

"I sent him notification via text and email, Captain Rogers," the dulcet tone of Jarvis sounded throughout the room, "Master Parker replied promptly, assuring that he would be present this morning."

"Thank you, Jarvis," Steve replied, staring pointedly at the shorter man who very maturely pulled a face at him, before turning towards the line of monitors embedded in the desk in front of him, typing at the keyboard.

"Watch you don't hurt yourself, grandpa," Tony remarked drily, trying to hide his trepidation at having the senior citizen anywhere near his electronics.

"Yeah, yeah, Tony Snark, you're hilarious," Steve quipped, eyes narrowing as a particular article peaked his interest.

"Someone has been paying attention to Sam's lessons," Nat murmured, side-eying Rogers before focusing back on the TV, clicking over to the news to see what they missed when they were out of town, precisely as a grainy image of what appeared to be an explosion erupting behind an apartment building came onto the screen.

"Hey, look at this," both she and Steve called in unison, she gesturing to the TV, he to the monitors.

"Bomb explodes in dumpster at 10:30pm last night, moments after shots were fired at a nearby apartment building," Steve read before Natasha joined in, reading the text from the news scroll, "the fire alarm was pulled after the gunfire, alerting authorities…who arrived just as a bomb exploded in an alley behind the building. At least three pints of blood were found at the scene, but as of yet, no body has been recovered…"

"…Does anyone know exactly where Peter lives?" Bruce asked the question on everyone's mind as the tension began to rise in the room.

The team lapsed into silence, gazes firmly fixed away from anyone else, each mulling over the events and potential ramifications, before a sharp knock shook them from their respective reveries.

"Uh…hey guys," a dishevelled Peter Parker waved lamely from the door, eyes darting around as his teammates turned sharply in unison to stare at him, "sorry I'm late. It's uh…a funny story actually…someone is kinda trying to kill me."

* * *

><p>Beep. Beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.<p>

"Ugh…five more minutes, mom," Wade Wilson groaned, throwing an arm over his face and turning on his side, something crumpling loudly underneath him.

"What the…?" he grumbled, his voice coarse and sleep-riddled as he forced his eyes open, reaching down to pull out whatever it was that lay against him.

It was a piece of paper.

Blearily, he shook his head, waiting for his gaze to focus.

There, hastily scribbled on the scrap of paper in chicken scratch cursive, was a note.

_**Gone to pick up breakfast.**_  
><em><strong>Feel free to shower or whatever. There's some clean clothes at the end of the bed.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Please don't break anything.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Be back soon.<strong>_  
><em><strong>~Peter<strong>_

Wade's eyes widened as the message began to sink in to his still groggy mind.

_{Does the kid have a death wish?!}_

_[He's probably holier than the plot of an M. Night Shyamalan movie by now]_

"No. He's fine. The sniper won't try anything so soon after last night…it's too risky," Deadpool murmured, sitting up from his resting place on the floor to the left of Peter's bed.

_{Who are you trying to convince, big boy? Us, or yourself?}_

_[Face it. The kid's probably a goner. D.O.A, D.N.R, R.I.P – dead]_

_{Shame. He was just starting to grow on us}_

_[Wonder if he has any pancakes?]_

"Shaddup!" Wade hissed, leaping up from the floor and stubbing his toe on the bed-frame.

_[What? It's not like he's gonna need them]_

_{Waste not, want not}_

"He's not dead!" Deadpool scolded, his tone a little frantic, alarmed at just how much he really, really hoped that the brunet wasn't lying dead in the street somewhere, the swiss-iest of swiss cheese.

_{Guess he was growing on you too}_

_[Aww…does Wadey have a crush?]_

_{And we thought you just wanted to fuck him on any and every available surface}_

_[But…you actually care if this kid lives or dies? Stop the presses! It's been like one day. Talk about desperate]_

_{He shows you the most basic and limited of attention and you're ready for the U-Haul and kitty adoption?}_

_[Didn't realize you were starring in an episode of The L Word]_

Wade shook his head, growling deep in his chest as he raced into the bathroom, pulled off his mask and glared at his reflection in the mirror.

Deep and shallow jagged scars and sores of all shapes and sizes marred his forehead, cheeks, chin…his bald head reflecting the sunlight that streamed in through the window, his reddened and irritated skin awash in a sickly glow.

_[Well hello there, handsome]_

_{We're taking it for granted that sarcasm can be detected through the written word}_

Wade gripped the edges of the sink, starring into his face, chapped lip caught between his teeth as he fought to steady his breathing.

He had to get a fucking grip on himself.

_[Naughty!]_

"Fuck you," he grit out, eyes snapping closed as his jaw clenched angrily.

_{Ooh, someone's in trouble…}_

_[Not me. Him. For being a sappy loser and letting himself care about some nerdy college kid that wouldn't even give him the time of day if he didn't throw himself on a bomb last night]_

_{You should probably just leave before you embarrass yourself even more than you have already}_

_[Too late. He's already seen him naked.]_

_{Surprised it wasn't that that made him lose his lunch}_

[He just felt sorry for you…wanted to pay you back for saving his life by plying you with tacos and letting you sleep on the floor by his bed like some lost puppy]

_{You really are a cheap date}_

Wade let out a huff of indignation, thumping the sink with his fist, it shuddering and creaking noisily under the strain.

_[He might not even really be coming back]_

_{Maybe he's come to his senses and realized he doesn't want a mentally-unstable mercenary as a house guest and gone to get help.}_

_[He did say he knows Iron Man, after all]_

_{And Captain America}_

_[And The Hulk]_

"Fuck."

The word reverberated around the small room as Deadpool forced himself to open his eyes again, slipping the mask back over his face.

_[Guess it's time to go]_

_{By some miracle, if the kid is still alive, he can just get one of The Avengers to help him with his little sniper problem}_

_[They are the real heroes]_

_{Let's face it, he's no Whitney Houston, are you're definitely no Kevin Costner}_

_[Probably best to quit while you're ahead. You even got some tacos out of it.]_

_{That's a win for you}_

With a sigh and slumped shoulders, Wade plodded out of the bathroom, stopping at the small table that housed his various weaponry and loaded up.

It was time to go…

With one last luck around the place, the merc made his way towards the door, heart heavy in his chest as he opened it and stepped out.

"Goodbye Peter Parker. It was nice knowin' ya…"

* * *

><p>"Define 'trying to kill you,'" Tony Stark air-quoted, taking a step towards the younger man with a look of irascibility on his face.<p>

Peter cleared his throat, shuffling further into the room, "uh…well, the 'rapidly shooting bullets into the side of my building and planting a bomb under my neighbour's sink to finish the job' trying to kill me."

"Wait…that's your building?" Steve asked, pointing to the TV, where the same news report that his Aunt May must have seen last night, was still running.

The brunet's cheeks flushed, his heart sinking as he realized that his safe-haven, the apartment he had spent the better part of a year perfecting to keep hidden away from his Spider Man life, was now plastered on national television for his friends and colleagues to see.

"Yeah," he nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the pool table.

"Are you okay? You weren't hurt, were you?" Bruce asked, taking the slightest step forward attentively.

"I'm fine, thanks. Managed to avoid all the bullets," Peter responded, throwing him a quick appreciative glance before staring back at the floor.

"Wait…" Tony drew even closer, his hands risen, "you said the bomb was planted in your neighbour's place? Why not yours?"

The younger man could feel a dozen eyes boring into him as he scrambled to get everything straight in his head.

"Uh…that's the other thing. I—my neighbour…turns out he's been tailing me for a while now. Has a bunch of surveillance photos of me leaving school and work. He had some Grade-A weaponry too, so I think he was the one that was originally supposed to take me out…" he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

"But…?" Tony prodded, folding his arms across his chest.

"But uh…" Peter sighed, forcing himself to look up and meet his gaze, "someone took him out first."

Stark's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"That was the first round of gunfire," Parker continued, skirting around the issue that he knew the others wanted him to address.

"So who shot a hail of bullets into your building and took out your would-be assassin, then?" Clint asked bluntly what everyone else was thinking, watching Peter's face intently to read his lips.

The youngest member of the group fought the urge to scuff his feet on the floor as a delay tactic and instead forced himself to take a deep breath in, and slowly let it out, before answering lowly:

"Deadpool."

The silence that met his response was practically deafening.

"Deadpool," Natasha stated drily after a moment, "Wade Wilson took out the guy that was meant to kill you?"

Peter nodded, "I—didn't get all the details but…from what I can surmise, he was hired to kill the guy. It was just…good timing that he did it before the guy had the opportunity to kill me, I guess."

Another silence descended on the room.

"So then…what about the bomb? Was that Deadpool's doing?" Cap asked, coming to stand in front of him.

Parker worried his lower lip.

"I—I'm not sure. I mean, I asked him—"

"You talked to him?!" Tony interjected loudly, his eyes glazed with anger, "is your cover blown? Does that crazy bastard know who you are?!"

Peter held up his hands, hoping to calm the older man.

"He—he knows my name is Peter Parker and someone was hired to kill me. He doesn't know I'm Spider Man. I…with everything that happened, it just seemed the lesser of two evils to tell him a half-truth than try to completely lie. But there's no way for him to connect the two. Seriously Tony, it's fine—"

"Nothing is ever fine when it comes to that lunatic, you should know that, Parker! You were the one that wanted your identity to remain a secret, not me, you know my stance on the whole thing, kid, remember that. But now you've practically told your real name to the literal worse person you could ever tell. So, don't be surprised when it comes back to bite you on the ass!"

The bespectacled man watched helplessly as Tony turned on his heel and stalked off towards the bar, away from them, but not completely out of ear shot.

Steve watched him out of the corner of his eye, before focusing back on the boy in front of him, "as much as I hate agreeing with Stark," he began with a small smile, "he does have a point, son. Wade is…unstable at the best of times. And even though he may have good intentions occasionally, and has been an aid to us in the past, doesn't mean that he is completely trustworth—"

"He saved my life," Peter cut across Cap, his tone hardened, "not only did he stop the guy that was plotting to kill me, but he also shielded me from the other sniper that showed up, and got that bomb out of my building and into the alley, saving countless other lives!"

He paused to draw breath, surprised how rapidly his heart was hammering in his chest.

"Look, I know he has had his…moments, in the past, I was there too, remember? But…it's like I said, he has no way of connecting Peter Parker with Spider Man, so really, I don't know why we're even discussing it. I told you what went down last night as a courtesy and maybe to get a little advice, not to be ridiculed or lectured on my choices. I'm not a child."

The clank of a glass sounded behind him. Turning slightly, he watched as Tony poured himself a drink, taking a long gulp before sighing.

"No Peter, you're not a child. But you are the most inexperienced out of us all, the newest member to all this, and are dealing with your first contract killer. I know you've dealt with your own brand of bad-guys before you joined us, but now that you are one of us, not only is your life more in danger, but so is every other facet of your existence, including everyone on this team.

"So, forgive us if we have some misgivings about letting Wade Goddamn Wilson be your gal-pal. The guy kills people for money, has absolutely no alliances and is as crazy as a sack of cats. The whole thing just reeks of bad idea."

And there it was.

Peter knew that coming here and telling all wouldn't yield the best results, but having it said plainly like that, really helped put things into perspective.

Didn't mean he had to like it though.

"Now," Tony continued, as if things were even remotely settled, "why don't you go through everything again from the top. Then we can start figuring out how to fix this…"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Five Years Earlier…<strong>_

Spider Man swung graciously from building to building, soaring through the chilly, winter air, his hazel orbs trained on the large, red-haired man that was currently thundering his way down the streets of New York City, giant duffle bag full of very stolen money, slung across his chest.

"Tired yet, Chuckie? 'Cause I can do this all night," Peter sing-songed over the roar of wind and passing traffic as he watched the robust man huff and puff, his cheeks rosy, his forehead glossy with sweat as he barrelled his way through pedestrians.

"S-Screw you!" the thief gasped, taking a turn down an alleyway, only to find himself met with a brick wall.

"Oops, looks like it's the end of the line for you, buddy," the web-slinger smirked, hopping down from the wall and landing behind the robber.

Suddenly, a cold sliver of steel was pressed into the back of his neck, the click of a gun being cocked reverberated in the alley.

"Actually, it looks like it's the end of the line for you, web-head," the red-head's companion hissed as he emerged from the shadows behind him, digging the pistol further into Peter's skin.

"Oh well now it's a party," Spider Man smirked with a roll of his eyes, leaping into the air, doing a somersault over the gun-wielder and adroitly landed behind him, shooting his webs to snatch the gun before weaving the criminal up like a tightly-wrapped burrito.

"You know, I would make a joke about a spider and its prey, but I really value my brand of humor and think I'm better than that," an unfamiliar voice quipped from up above.

Confused, Peter glanced up to the roof to see a flash of red and black before he shot his webs at wannabe Carrot-Top, wrapping him up as well.

"Ooh someone's a greedy Spidey," the voice called again from the darkness.

"What…?" Peter muttered under his breath, stringing up the two criminals before taking the duffel bag of money (the precinct was on his way home anyway) and began scaling the wall and onto the roof.

"Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper I love you, birds singin' in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me…" the voice was now singing softly as Peter approached the hunched over figure, clad head to toe in a black and red suit, eerily similar to his own.

"You must be Deadpool," he stated, watching intently as the taller man stood up, wiping blood from the large katana, as well as what looked like taco meat from his mouth, before waving.

"Let me guess, my reputation precedes me," he grinned cheerily.

"Something like that…" Peter murmured before stepping back against the ledge.

Truth was, he had heard many a thing about the mercenary, most of which weren't exactly favourable. He wasn't sure being alone with this guy was the best idea.

"Well, I gotta be go—"

"You gonna keep that money, Spidey? Maybe buy yourself some fly-filled burritos?" Deadpool cut across him with a tilt of his head.

Spider Man frowned, taking a glance at the duffel bag in his hand before turning back to the merc, "no, I'm not…you know, because it's illegal."

"Illegal…" Wilson repeated, tapping his chin as if he'd never heard the term before, "oh yeah, that's the word good ol' Captain America keeps throwin' around every time I ask to join The Avengers. 'Killing people is illegal, Deadpool.' 'Stealing weapons is illegal, Deadpool.' 'Walking around naked, is illegal, Deadpool.'"

Spider Man snorted, shaking his head. He had heard why the man was dubbed The Merc With The Mouth, and he was certainly living up to it.

"I mean," Deadpool continued with a shrug, "what a lame excuse to exclude me from Heroes R Us. What about me isn't tailor-made for that super-squad?"

Peter shrugged, brain scrambling for a reply, "I guess he could sometimes…doubt your commitment to…you know…saving people."

"Yeah well, sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion!"

A laugh bubbled up Peter's throat at Wilson's snappy retort, understanding the reference. The man in question went still, eyes on his mask widening comically.

"You can go suck a fuck," the webbed-wonder said suddenly, tilting his head at Deadpool and waiting.

The merc gaped, not believing what he just heard.

"Oh please tell me Elizabeth…" he said slowly, taking a step forward, "how exactly does one suck a fuck?"

Peter slanted his chin, crossing his arms.

"You want me to tell you?"

A brief silence descended on the roof before the two men started to laugh, it melodious as it carried in the night air.

They stared at one another for a moment, as if both shocked that such an exchange did indeed happen, before Spider Man glanced over Deadpool's shoulder, and nodded at the familiar fast-food wrappers that lay on the ground by one of his katanas.

"So is that what you do up here all night? Eat tacos and quote weird cult classics?"

"Hey, give me some credit," Wilson responded with a wave of his hand, "I occasionally behead a bad guy or two."

And that was Peter's cue to leave…

"Well, I better get going," he gestured behind him, "you know, bad-guys to deliver, money to return…" he trailed off, walking backwards to the ledge.

Deadpool scrambled forward, hands held up, pointing at Peter's arm, "you know, it's a pity the webs aren't like built in or anything like in Tobey Maguire's run…but I guess, for accuracy's sake, you being part spider and all, your webs would have to shoot outta your butt!"

The brunet stared at him.

"I uh…have to go, now…" he replied with a confused tone, not knowing what the hell the other man was talking about, but electing just to ignore it and taking another step backwards.

"Aww already?" the mercenary whined like a small child told he can't have ice-cream before dinner, "but we were just gettin' to know each other! I've heard all about you Spidey and I gotta say, you're all kinds of awesome! Do you want a taco? We could talk some more about Donnie Dar—"

"You know, I would like to," Peter interjected, his brain racing a mile a minute, not too sure what to say, but not wanting to insult the man, "but I really should get going. Maybe some other time?"

The merc faltered a little, his posture deflating as he nodded, looking a little distracted, no longer looking at Peter.

"So uh…it was nice to meet you?" the brunet murmured uncertainly, standing up on the ledge, "I'll probably see you around," he finished, before leaping off the roof, shooting his web at the opposite building and swinging away.

"It was nice to meet you, too, Spidey!" he heard the mercenary call after him. "I'm Wade, by the way! Wade Winston Wilson, if you're nasty!"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day…<em>**

Turns out, when Tony Stark was pissed about something, he could very well make it seem like one moment was stretched into an eternity – which would explain Peter's giant headache and exhaustion as he walked back to his apartment, later that morning.

The other reason could be the fact that Wade kept him up all night snoring and talking in his sleep from his post on the floor by Peter's bed. The two had fought briefly over sleeping arrangements, the brunet not even entertaining the merc's commentary on cuddling or spooning, they eventually deciding on the floor being the best place, as the larger man's form had no chance at fitting on his tiny couch.

Peter wasn't born yesterday, he was smart enough to conveniently leave out the fact that the mercenary now happened to be staying with him under the guise of being his 'bodyguard' when he was running down the events of last night to his teammates, but couldn't help but be bothered by the feeling of dread creeping into his chest with every step he took towards home.

He had time to reflect on it, and now he wasn't feeling sure about the whole bodyguard deal he struck to try and keep his other identity secret. He was playing a tough game, a risky one, he knew that, but after everything he witnessed, from Wade saying him from bullets, and then everyone from a bomb, he couldn't bring himself to ask the man to leave.

The two of them had been through a lot since meeting five years ago. He had been thinking about the night in question as he neared his building, remembering how the two of them bonded over their mutual love of Donnie Darko. A small smile spread across his face as he recalled how Wade had wanted to keep talking, even offered to share his food (something that was practically unheard of) if Peter would stay and talk with him.

It was funny, despite hearing all the horror stories about the merc, Peter had been tempted to take him up on his offer. He had been in a bad place at that time (it being less than a year since Gwen's death) and he felt starved of human interaction. Alas, the duties of a hero came first, and he had to leave, but he remembered how he thought about that meeting, the strange guy with the similar suit bantering with him, for a long time afterwards.

He couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the mercenary. What little pieces of information he uncovered of Wade's past was never anything but horrid and depressing, and knew how the man was shunned by most superheroes in the vicinity, dubbed a menace for his actions.

Whilst Peter certainly didn't agree with his status as a killer for hire, over the years he had seen some good in the merc, a glimmer of something that convinced him not to completely write the man off as a crazy killer, or at least not just that. He couldn't explain it, not really, but it had been enough to convince the others to give the man a chance on occasion. And while those occasions had not been without their hitches, the times when Deadpool did team up with him or other members of The Avengers, his enthusiasm and desire to help in his own misguided way was mind-bogglingly endearing…

Which was what ultimately convinced Peter, as he reached his front door, to conclude that while this plan definitely wasn't his smartest, he had to give Wade a shot, just one. He deserved that much…

"Wade…?" he called as he opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him and heading for his bedroom.

"Sorry I took a bit longer than I thought I would. There was a long line at the—" Peter broke off as he was met by an empty room.

With a frown, he made his way to the bathroom, finding it void of anyone too.

Trepidation crept further into his chest as he searched the rest of his place, still seeing no sign of the other man.

With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his eye catching on something on his bed. Edging closer, he picked it up – the note he'd left this morning, crumpled into a ball.

Peter's heart sank.

"Wade?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>My heart hurts.<strong>_

It's only temporary Wade, I promise.

_**Better be. This is almost as sad as the first ten minutes of Up!**_

_**[Oh no, he's thinking about Up again]**_

_**Why, Ellie?!**_

**NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:**

"**Nice suit, by the way…I almost thought you were Spider Man the first time I saw you around town," Peter smirked, leaning back against the wall.**

"**Whatever you heard, I did not copy the look…I just…perfected it," Deadpool winked, "besides, there's no way you could ever really mistake me for that string-bean cutie."**

"**You're telling me you're not cute under that mask?" the words erupted from Peter's mouth without his permission, he immediately regretting them and forcing himself not to wince in response.**

"**Hey," Wade stepped toward him, pointing a finger in his face, "I'll have you know that I'm fine as hell, okay? Some may say I even look like Canada's Sweetheart Ryan Reynolds!"**


	6. Crouching Spidey, Hidden Deadpool

**Say Anything…Except That**

**By Cortexikid**

**Chapter 6: Crouching Spidey, Hidden Deadpool**

So sorry for the late update everyone, real life kinda got in the—

**Be honest, writer lady. You spent most of your time on Tumblr, playing Peggle and binge-watching Broad City. Face it, you had a bad case of the block.**

The block?

**Yeah. Writer's block. You had literary impotence. You couldn't get a word boner.**

Deadpool—

**But you're fine now. You're nine inches of rock hard vocab—**

Okay, that's enough. We get it. Nine inches though? I'm flattered.

**Meh. You know how it is. Nine inches is like three in guy-speak.**

* * *

><p>Forget what anyone said about Mondays, it was Thursdays that sucked ass.<p>

Thursdays were the day-time equivalent of a root canal, that sneeze that just won't come, and a surprise pop quiz after you've spent the whole semester sleeping.

Basically, Thursdays were the bane of Peter Parker's existence.

"PARKER! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOUR DAMN PICTURES?! I DON'T PAY YOU TO JUST HANG AROUND WITH YOUR BUDDY HOLLY GLASSES, LIBERAL AGENDA AND FIVE DOLLAR HAIR CUT!"

And the reason why Thursdays sucked so much? Three words. John Jonah Jameson.

"I left them on your desk, sir," Peter elected to reply instead of webbing the brash man's mouth shut like he desperately wanted to at least three times a day, since he began working at The Daily Bugle as a teenager.

Jameson scattered around dozens of sheets of paper in front of him, before throwing his hands up in a huff.

"Marge! MARGE! Where are Parker's pictures of that flying costumed menace?!"

Marjorie, Jameson's put-upon secretary, who clearly did something awful in a past life to warrant having to deal with such a man every single day, waltzed into the room and exchanged a quick knowing glance with Peter before gesturing, "they are right there, Mr. Jameson. On your desk…an inch from your left hand."

The salt-and-pepper-haired man froze, glancing down at his hand and back up again.

"Well, what are you waiting for Marge, a medal? Skedaddle! Me and Steve Urkel here need to have words!"

Marge turned on her heel and left the room without a backwards glance, letting the door slam behind her.

_That woman needs a 500% raise and 360 vacation days…_

"What, are you just gonna stand there all day like an unemployed grad student busking his way through Europe to pay for his ticket home to mommy? Sit down Parker!" Jameson growled, interrupting Peter's mental admiration of Marge, slapping his desk and jostling his coffee, drops of it spilling out over onto the pages at his elbows.

The brunet sat in the seat opposite his boss, trampling down the familiar urge to web the guy up like one of those disgusting cigars he always smoked despite it being against regulations.

"Good," Jameson nodded, standing up and clasping his hands behind him, walking around his desk and halting a foot from Peter, before pacing back and forth.

"Now, as you may not have heard, thanks to your generation's incessant need to be glued to your phones playing Angry Crush and Candy Birds, here in the epicentre of relevance, good ol' fashioned paper and ink, we report on what the people need to know. And what the people need to know, Parker…" he paused, leaning forward dramatically, towering over the bewildered younger man, "…is that Spider Man, the little havoc-wreaking freak of nature, is finally dead."

Well, those were some words Peter definitely didn't expect to hear when he got up this morning.

"Uh…dead, Sir?" he asked, brow furrowed, shifting in his seat.

"DEAD!" Jameson boomed before catching himself, glancing around for a moment and lowering his voice, "…but it's all hush-hush, for now. My source only confirmed it last night. We run with the story first thing tomorrow, so I want you to go through your little stalker scrap book and find me your best picture of the dearly departed degenerate, the one that most says I-think-I'm-better-than-everyone-else and bring it here to me before 6pm to—"

"Sorry Sir but," Peter held up his hands, leaning forward in his seat, "how can you know for sure that Spider Man is actually—"

"Remember that apartment block that was evacuated because some wacko with a rifle shot up the place? The same building that had a bomb go off the alley behind it?" the editor cut across Peter's protests with an excited wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Uh…yeah."

"Well, turns out that a small scrap of evidence was left at the scene. A piece of red fabric, fabric that Mr. Fashionista himself has been known to wear…right beside about a gallon of blood. There is also an eye-witness account of the stupid web-head running into the alley so he must have tried to disarm a bomb and it blew up in his face, LITERALLY! Talk about poetic justice!"

Peter was torn between irate scowling and sheer bafflement. J. Jonah Jameson was never his biggest fan, sure, he knew that, but to hear him now speak so callously about his alter-ego's apparent death, really rubbed him the wrong way.

He couldn't help but think that Wade would have turned that into an innuendo.

And he was thinking about Wade again…

Over the last two nights, he had laid awake, staring up at his ceiling, the shadows casting dark, misshapen ink blots onto the walls in the dead of night. If he tried hard enough, he could make pictures out of them as he tossed and turned, and when he did, whether it was his mind playing tricks on him or not, the images formed things that looked awfully like sharp swords, machine guns and tacos – all things Wade Wilson.

He should have gone after him…

Except, Peter Parker wasn't meant to know how to find the elusive Deadpool. Hell, even Spider Man would have had a hard time, although it wasn't impossible.

After wracking his brain, the bespectacled man still had no idea what drove the mercenary to leave his home, but knowing Wade, it could be anything from receiving another job to trying to satiate his seemingly insatiable hunger. The crumpled note on his bed however, had inexplicably made his blood run cold at the sheer sight of it. He couldn't explain it, but he felt that Wade's reasoning for getting the hell outta dodge, may have been more than just craving Mexican food.

It was that very thought that had kept him up for the last two nights.

It's true, Peter and Wade were never what you would call incredibly close friends, but, over the years, they had certainly built up a rapport, an acquaintanceship, an attentive if somewhat tumultuous friendship. While wildly differing in everything from world view, to morality, to their favourite flavour of ice-cream, it was their undeniable ability to somehow make the other laugh even in the direst and sometimes most inappropriate of times, the striking of quick conversation out of nowhere and their sheer, albeit odd connection, that helped push Peter's previously established lines…

* * *

><p><em><strong>Four Years, 8 Months and Six Days Earlier…<strong>_

"Well, well, well, Charlotte, how's your web?"

"If I'm Charlotte, does that make you Wilbur?"

Deadpool let out a snort as he swung his legs back and forth over the ledge of the building.

"Rambunctious and strongly emotional…nope, doesn't sound like me."

"Are you reading that from the Wikipedia page?" Spider Man asked as he took a seat beside the mercenary who had his phone in hand, scrolling rapidly.

He shrugged, before pocketing said phone and reached behind him.

"Fancy chicken taco with lime cilantro crema, lightly seasoned with cumin and paprika. Your favourite," he paused, holding out the taco, its delicious aroma wafting from it and making the teen's stomach growl.

The web-slinger stared silently at the older man, highly aware that in the last two minutes, he had referenced one of Peter's favourite books and foods.

"How…how do you know what my favourite taco is?"

It had become a thing. Despite Peter's best efforts to avoid it, these rooftop meetings were becoming more and more frequent between the two red-clad spandex enthusiasts over the last three months or so. Whether fighting side by side, or arguing and getting into each other's faces over various jobs that a certain someone may have taken (Deadpool) and people certain others wanted to protect (Spider Man) the two had seen each other a lot over the last while. The rooftop rendezvous afterward, though. That had just sorta…happened.

"Come on Spidey, take the taco…it won't bite. Growing boys need their sustenance," Deadpool dodged his question, waving the tightly wrapped food in front of his face teasingly.

With a sigh, the 'growing boy' in question shook his head and indeed took the taco, his gloved fingers brushing against Deadpool's slightly. The other man tensed at the contact and snatched his hand back, trying (and failing) to make it appear as if he was smoothly moving to rub the back of his neck.

"Thanks," Peter murmured, ignoring the man's uneasiness and taking a bite of the frankly delectable treat.

"Always so polite," the merc smirked, clearly amused at the younger man's manners before tucking into his own food with the ferociousness of a mountain lion.

"And uh…" Spider Man began after a moment of transfixed awe at the nature documentary that was unfolding in front of his eyes, "thanks for…you know…helping out back there."

The eyes on Deadpool's mask widened at the words as he continued to shovel food into his mouth.

"Mrrumph nooosh probablab," he replied, bits of food spraying everywhere, the sliver of scarred skin on display now shiny with a thin layer of grease.

Peter fought a grimace as he caught himself staring at Wilson's jawline, and not for the first time. He had to admit, what little he knew of the mercenary, was enough to make him have nightmares about what could have possibly caused those scars. They looked…painful. And deep. And with the sheen of grease, under the glow of street lights, they appeared…haunting.

_Was that what drove him crazy?_

The thought flittered into his head without warning. This was the third time he had seen Wade with his mask rolled up slightly, and it was still as distracting as it had been the first time, but not for the reasons one may think. He wasn't gawking, wasn't disgusted by the scars…he was mesmerized by the enigmatic backstory behind him. As hypocritical as it may sound (wanting to protect his own personal life and all) the web-slinger was fascinated by everything that led up to the Canadian killer-for-hire being exactly where he was now.

Peter knew that The Avengers were all aware of Wade's past, but, as he was not (yet) part of their team, the teen was not privy to such information…not matter how many times he asked whenever he came across Captain Rogers or Mr. Stark.

With a shake of his head, Wade distracted Parker as he brought a hand up to wipe his mouth murmuring, "it was uh…no problem, Spidey. Glad I could help out. Never can pass up an opportunity to flex my heroic muscles when The Avengers are around. You never know when a new spot could open up!"

It was a badly kept secret that Wade Wilson worshipped the ground The Avengers walked on, and desperately desired to become their newest ally. On the last couple of occasions that they interacted, Deadpool had regaled Spider Man with his many epic plans of impressing every member of the elite team, each more fantastical than the next.

"I hear The Hulk loves knock-knock jokes," was this evening's recognisance apparently.

"Really? And you know that how exactly?"

It always went like this. Wade said something outlandish, and Peter would humor him. Mostly for his own entertainment. After all, the merc-with-the-mouth was anything but boring.

"I've got my ways, Spidey," Deadpool smirked, tapping his nose before tilting towards Peter slightly, whispering conspiratorially, "knock, knock!"

"Who's there?" the younger man found himself asking before he could talk himself out of it.

"Spider," the grin laced in Wilson's tone was evident.

Peter fought a sigh.

"Spider who?"

"Spider what everyone says, I like you!" Wade finished before erupting into a booming laugh, quickly followed by a girlish giggle that was quite unbecoming for such a large, muscular individual.

The brunet couldn't help a wry smile, but revelled in rolling his eyes at the truly terrible attempt at humour.

"Be sure to duck when The Hulk's fist comes flying at your face after you tell him that," he murmured, taking another bite of his taco.

Deadpool waved dismissively, "that's comedy gold! No way Mr. Tall, Green and Angry doesn't crack an itsy bitsy smile. Ha, get it?! Itsy bitsy! Man, I'm on fire, tonight."

Peter shook his head, wondering not for the first time how he came to be here, eating tacos with the guy who would crack lame jokes one minute, and your neck, the next.

"It's your funeral," he shrugged, morbidly hoping that he be there when the merc tries to tell that joke to the green Avenger.

"Ha! Funeral! Me! Good one, Spidey!" Wade chuckled, apparently tickled at the thought of his own demise.

Before Peter could comment on Wade's somewhat morbid sense of what was amusing, the merc was clearing his throat loudly and mumbling something under his breath.

"I'm sorry," the brunet leaned toward him slightly, "didn't quite catch that."

Deadpool's hand reached behind his neck, rubbing it gently again before letting out a short cough, "I said I…do…uh…like you."

Peter knew that if his face was visible, he would be gaping openly at the older man, his brain completely frozen and failing to reboot.

Apparently unnerved by his companion's silence, Wade tapped on his now jiggling knee and rushed to continue: "I—what I mean is that…I mean…you're alright, kid, you know? For a whiny web-head who's always tryin' to ruin my fun. Don't let it go to your head or anything…thing's already big enough."

It was a good a save as any, Peter supposed.

"You're…alright too, Deadpool. You know…for a loud-mouth mercenary who's always tryin' to add to my fun…usually with explosives. And sexual innuendo."

"In your end-o," Wade couldn't help but add with a cheeky grin as Spider Man heaved a put-upon sigh, knowing it would not be his last whenever he was in this guy's company.

It truly was the beginning of a beautifully fucked up friendship…

* * *

><p><em><strong>P<strong>__**resent Day…**_

"Thank you for being a friend…travel down the road and back again…your heart is true, you're a pal and confidant. And if you're threw a partaaaay, invited every one you knew, you would see the biggest gift would be from me and the card attached would say…thank you for being a frieeeeend!"

_{Who told this guy he could sing?}_

_[Probably the same idiot that told him he could write poetry]_

"Oh Bea Arthur…more like Bea still my beating heart," Wade Wilson sighed into his giant bowl of guacamole, a dozen of nachos clenched in his gloved fist that he was now sloshing around in the green dip.

_[So…another day watching Golden Girls re-runs, huh? That's what we're doing with our never-ending life?]_

_{He's sulking}_

_[Pining]_

_{Pathetic really}_

"That smile's foolin' nobody Rose!" Wade yelled at the TV as Betty White came into view, aiming to drown out his insufferable boxes.

_[Aww that's so cute. He thinks he can ignore us]_

_{Adorable}_

_[Think he'll drill another hole in his head? That shit was hilarious last time]_

Wade gripped his beer tightly, jaw clenched, as the voices continued to converse about him smarmily.

_{Nah…it'll probably take him thinking about little Petey Pie before he breaks out the power tools}_

_[And not the sexy kind]_

"SHUT UP!" the merc roared, leaping up from the couch, the bowl of guacamole tumbling to the floor and shattering into a thousand pieces.

_{It seems we've hit a nerve}_

A growl escaped the mercenary's throat, his chest heaving with each deep breath.

_[Well mark me down as scared and horny]_

_{Man, don't you miss SNL? Why aren't we marathoning the shit outta that?}_

_[Because Mr. Pissbaby here is too focused on pining over nerdy college kid to appreciate Bill Hader's genius]_

"I'm. Not. Pining!" Wade hissed, before chugging the rest of his beer and throwing the bottle at the wall with a resounding thump, satisfied as it too smashed into bits, large shards of glass raining down to the floor.

_{Oh and Andy Samberg! Remember that guy's run? Epic!}_

_[Oh yeah, he rocks]_

"What? You two ignoring me now?" Wade asked, eyes narrowed.

_[Mmm whatcha say]_

"Very funny. You shoulda been a fuckin' comedian," Wilson grit out, snatching up another beer from the battered coffee table and ripping off the cap with his teeth.

_{He knows it's not even noon, right?}_

_[Alcohol and pining tend to go hand in hand]_

"I said I'm not fucking pi—"

Suddenly, four booming knocks resonated throughout the apartment, interrupting him.

_{Creepy}_

_[Very Doctor Who]_

_{Does this mean we're finally gonna die?}_

_[Not till April]_

"Mr. Wilson?" a male voice called out from behind the door.

_[Ooh 'Mister.' Aren't we fancy?]_

Wade retrieved his gun from its hiding place in the couch cushion and approached the door with cat-like agility, barely making a sound.

"I'm unarmed, Mr. Wilson. I'm aware of your proclivity towards weaponry and…violence, so I'm approaching you unarmed and alone as a sign of good faith. I'm just here to talk," the voice continued with an air of clearly practised professionalism.

"Nobody's home," Wade called out, leaning towards the peep hole.

_[Let's give him a minute to think that through]_

"Please, Mr. Wilson. I ask for five minutes of your time," the voice paused a moment before adding slightly louder, "you will be compensated."

_[Cha-ching!]_

_{If I had eyes, there would be dollar signs in them}_

_[Go on, let him in then. You heard him. Alone and unarmed]_

_{Poor misguided bastard}_

Keeping his gun raised, Wade used his other hand to unlock the door, throwing it open wide, revealing a tall man in a sharp suit with thinning brown hair.

"Mr. Wilson," he began, eyes flickering to the gun before focusing back on Wade's masked face, "I'm Agent Coulson."

The merc stared silently at the other man for an instant, before tilting his head.

"Coulson? Shouldn't you be like injecting blue alien blood and going all psycho Banksy on a wall or whatever the hell is goin' on in your show right now?"

The agent frowned, clearly bewildered, before the cool and collected mask came across his features once again.

"Mr. Wilson, may I come in?"

Wade's eyes narrowed, raking in every inch of the man's appearance before taking a step back, allowing him to pass.

Coulson, tactful as ever, didn't grimace at the state of the place, the stench of dried blood and rotten food hanging in the air or the multiple mysterious stains that covered the room, and merely took a stand by the window, hands clasped behind his back.

"So, since when do Directors make house-calls? Didn't think I was that high on SHIELD's priority list what with Hydra running rampant and tearing you apart like velcro off a stripper," Deadpool commented, lowering his gun but remaining very much on guard.

For his worth, the Agent of SHIELD didn't wince at the merc's crude summary of his organisation's plight.

"We're in dark times, Mr. Wilson. House-calls are a requirement every now and again…especially in circumstances such as these…" he trailed off enigmatically.

_{Ooh mysterious}_

_[I think this guy gets off on all the cloak and dagger crap]_

"Circumstances such as these…" Wade began, tapping his chin, "and what would they be, exactly?"

The agent's eyebrow quirked, "like when you're tasked to take out a trusted employee of Tony Stark."

Deadpool scowled.

"Hold up blue balls," he held up his hand and took a step towards the agent, "I was hired to take out some dude called Haynes or Groves or some shit. He was some middle-aged muscle for the cartel – not really Stark Industries material."

Coulson faltered for a moment as those words sank in.

"You mean you weren't hired to assassinate Peter Parker?"

The air was knocked from Wade's lungs.

_[Why are the Super Humdrum Inquisitive Egomaniacal and Laughably Dull interested in Petey Pie?]_

_{I thought it stood for Supremely Hellish Interfering Extremist Lackadaisical Division?]_

"Why are the Strategic Hazard Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division interested in some harmless college kid from Queens?"

_{Impressive}_

_[I still prefer my version]_

"You…" Coulson took a step towards him, seeming intrigued, "you know Mr. Parker?"

Deadpool's scowl deepened.

"Well, duh. I mean, you did just accuse me of tryin' to take him out. And seen as I have a feeling you didn't mean 'take out' as in the wine and dine kind, it would suggest that I'd have to do at least some basic recon on the guy."

_[Why does everyone think just any regular idiot can be a world-class mercenary?]_

_{Because the world-class mercenary in question is Wade Wilson?}_

_[Oh yeah]_

"But you said you were hired to kill some cartel muscle, not a college kid. So, that begs the question, how are you familiar with Peter Parker?" the agent pressed, not deterred in the slightest by the angry clench to Wade's jaw.

The Canadian shrugged, "let's just say I cock-blocked my guy before he could 'take out' your guy."

Coulson hummed, mulling over that information, a crease forming on his brow.

"So, someone hired you to kill the guy trying to kill Stark's star pupil. Why?"

_{That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn't it?}_

_[I dunno, I think with an ass like that, Petey's worth a bit more]_

"Well, you're the one in the business of knowing the answers to covert questions, Mr. Agent. Not me. Now, if that's all," Wade motioned to the door, tiring of his inquiring house-guest.

"Who hired you?"

Wade stilled, turning back towards Coulson, his spine dead-straight.

_[Only part of him that is]_

_{Sexually and physically}_

_[Bow chicka wow wow]_

"A disembodied voice over the phone," Wade elected to reply, inexplicably feeling generous towards the agent who looked like he had easier days.

"So, no name then," the man stated rather than asked, looking at something over the mercenary's shoulder.

"Got the money upfront. Didn't really see a need to ask any questions," Wilson shrugged, before flipping his gun up in the air and catching it again.

"They said you were difficult…impossible to have a reasonable conversation with," Coulson commented, sounding surprised at the ease of the exchange, eyes trained on the gun that was now back in the other man's hand, his own fingers flexing in desire to reach for the hidden glock in his ankle holster.

"And you said you were alone and unarmed," Wade replied, whipping out a second gun from nowhere, holding it in his left hand towards Coulson, before turning on his heel and pointing his other gun at the head of an aggravated-looking Asian woman as she held her own pistol on him.

_{Hottie alert}_

_[Think of all the beautiful angry sex we could have]_

"Stand down, Agent May," Coulson murmured, hand held out in a calming gesture that would definitely not work on either of them.

"You said five minutes. It's been six," she replied curtly, never taking her eyes off Wade.

"No need to worry, your boyfriend's virtue is still intact," Deadpool smirked.

"You get what you need?" May ignored him, instead looking towards her colleague.

Coulson minutely nodded before raising both hands, palms outwards, and stepping around the mercenary towards the door.

"It really was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Wilson. Your reputation precedes you," he remarked with the smallest of smiles.

"Always happy to entertain," he responded, sarcasm dripping from his tone, "give my best to Fury."

"Fury's dead."

Wade snorted, "and I'm Shirley Temple."

"Really? I love your movies," Coulson grinned before turning on his heel and following Melinda 'The Calvalry' May out, closing the door behind him.

"Hey! What about my compensation?!" Deadpool yelled after him, only to be met with silence.

_{I think your compensation was that hot angry lady not tapping you twice in head with her pistol}_

_[Well that was weird…and rude]_

_{Understatement of the century}_

_[Do SHIELD typically get involved with the murder plot of some kid? Stark wonder boy or not?]_

_{Petey must be special}_

_[Like we didn't already know that]_

_{But why?}_

"No idea," Wade murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, a trepidation rising in his chest at what he was about to suggest, "but I'm gonna find out."

_[Does that mean you're done with your pity party? Because I gotta say, it wasn't nearly as fun to watch as we thought]_

_{Yeah. And we need more visual aids for our spank bank}_

"Someone's still trying to kill the kid," Wade began pacing the floor, "and…it would be a sad day for humanity to lose an ass like that," he surmised as he began gathering his weaponry, "and I can keep my distance. Totally. Can do. So, just a little recon, that's all. Doesn't mean I need to become best buds with him or anything…" he trailed off, a little lost in the fantasy of what that would be like, before snapping himself out of it, "I'm just scratching my itchy curiosity, that's all. There's something…off about all this, and I want to know what."

_{So… that's a no to the SNL marathon then?}_

* * *

><p>Peter Parker rolled his aching shoulders as he trudged towards Jitters coffee shop after leaving J. Jonah Jameson's office.<p>

He had only been there for a half hour, but it may as well have been an eternity. Mere moments in that man's presence was enough to render even the most patient person irrevocably incensed within an inch of their lives. And now, to top it all off, he had to go into the lab and spend an indeterminate amount of hours hunched over a microscope (which usually he wouldn't mind but after the nightmare that was the editor of The Bugle, it was a special type of torture) before then making a round-trip back to Jameson's office with what would likely be his last batch of pictures of the 'dearly departed degenerate' that was Spider Man.

The never-ending slew of Terrible Thursdays had struck again.

And what a particularly terribly Thursday it was proving to be. The editor of The Daily Bugle thought Spider Man was dead…and revelled in it. He could barely contain himself at the notion of running the story across the front page for all the world to see tomorrow morning and Peter had no idea what he was going to do about it.

Was there anything he could do?

"…-get you, Sir? Sir?" a voice called suddenly, snapping him from his reverie.

Blinking, Peter glanced up to find a concerned barista staring at him.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, a blush colouring his cheeks at having been caught daydreaming.

"I asked what I could get you?" the black-haired girl clarified with a gentle smile, her whiskey-toned eyes sparkling a little.

"Oh, right, sorry. Yes, I'll have—"

The brunet broke off as the familiar tingling sensation crept up his spine. Turning his head to his right, Peter's hazel gaze was drawn to a rooftop where a small bright light glimmered against the afternoon sun.

"Everybody get down!" he yelled just as a burst of gunfire erupted around him.

Peter leapt across the counter top, colliding roughly with some glass jars before tugging the alarmed barista down behind it as various foodstuffs exploded, glass shattered and rained to the floor, the cracking sound of bullets lodging in everything but their primary target surrounding them as the rest of the customers screamed and scrambled to take cover.

When there was a lull in shooting, a crouched Peter spared a quick glance out and saw that the rooftop was empty. With frantic eyes he looked up and down it again, but there was still no one to be seen. Police sirens in the distance, steadily nearing the coffee shop rang in his ears as he helped the barista to her feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked, gripping her elbows firmly but not too tightly.

White as a sheet with shock, the girl merely nodded, now anxiously eyeing about her to check on her colleagues and customers.

"Is anybody hurt?" she asked quietly, before clearing her throat and repeating herself louder for everybody else to hear.

When a chorus of 'no' greeted her, Peter decided it was about time he split. Nothing aroused suspicion more than being in the middle of two attempted shootings in less than a week. The last cop interview he had given had taken forever, so he didn't desire to have to suffer through another one any time soon. So, when the barista was distracted, he edged towards the side-entrance door, taking one last quick glance around him, and once he found that indeed everyone was unharmed, he made a hasty exit, out into the alley.

He barely got ten steps however before he was wrenched roughly backwards, hand covering his mouth and dragging him in the other direction. In an instant, Peter broke free from the strong grip, whirled around and grabbed hold of the person, shoving them back against the wall with force.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there, Petey Pie, it's just me," Wade Wilson's voice broke through his adrenaline-fueled haze.

His grasp on Deadpool's shoulders slackened but didn't let go as the man in question came into focus. Breathing heavily up into the merc's face, Peter glared daggers at him, his hazel eyes flashing angrily behind his glasses.

"What the hell, Deadpool?! Is this how you spend your days? Hiding in alleys and trying to abduct people?!" he barked, chest heaving as he fought to calm down.

The mercenary shrugged, "not usually…but if this is the reception I get, I could start," he smirked, leaning a little closer to him so that their torsos were touching.

Peter's grip on Wade's shoulders tightened minutely for a moment before he let out a growl, taking a step back. His first foot barely collided with the ground however before he pulled back, albeit much gentler this time.

"You're hurt," Wade murmured softly, one hand holding him in place as the other ghosted an inch from his shirt, his gaze zeroing in on a spot on the younger man's shoulder.

"Wha—" Peter broke off as he glanced down, just a little to the right of his clavicle, where his check button-down shirt was now stained crimson.

Wracking his brain, the brunet concluded that it must have happened when he collided with the jar of coffee beans as he jumped the counter-top.

"It's…nothing. I'll be fine," he dismissed, acutely aware that Deadpool was very much still touching him.

The merc had already witnessed his super-strength on more than one occasion, so he really had to reign it in around him. With a grimace, Peter tested the waters and tried to step back, surprised when Wade let him go, apparently realizing that he was still holding onto him and letting his hands drop with an awkward clearing of his throat.

"I uh…I tried to catch the guy on the roof but the bastard was like fucking Road-Runner," he grumbled, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, "so I took care of the security cameras instead," he gestured to the camera that was above the side-door, "had a feelin' you wouldn't want the cops seein' you in the middle of another shooting."

Peter's eyebrows raised.

"Thanks," he replied sincerely, quietly admitting to himself that was incredibly smart and something he had forgotten about in all the madness.

Wade shrugged, and it was in that moment that Peter really took him in, his eyes raking over the larger man.

"What are you wearing?"

He knew that if he could see Wade's face, Peter would witness a sheepish grin spread across it.

"It's my uh…my Spider Man hoodie. What, you think I rock the spandex 24/7? It's my day off, dude."

He really was a sight to behold. Deadpool mask very much still on his face, and yet, everything else he wore was…casual. Red and black hoodie that Peter knew had to have his emblem on the back, faded and tattered jeans, and converse that had certainly seen better days.

It was…weird, seeing the usually spandex-clad and armed to the teeth mercenary like this, to say the least.

"Okay well uh…I—I gotta get going. I gotta get to work—"

"Hell no!" the merc interjected, taking a step towards him.

"You're taking a sick day. Call your boss, tell them you've got a bad case of conjunctivas, cooties, the clap, I don't care, but there's no way in hell you're going anywhere public. In case you haven't noticed, there's some crazy dude with a sniper rifle trying to make spaghetti outta your brains and you don't strike me as the type to cause the harm of innocent bystanders."

Peter opened his mouth only to firmly snap it shut again. He hated to admit it, but the guy had a point.

"Thought so," Wade nodded, before gesturing to his arm.

"Now…let's get that looked at before it gets infected and falls off, 'cause somethin' tells me it won't grow back."

* * *

><p>If you had told Peter Parker less than a week ago that Wade Wilson would be a guest in his home, not once, but twice in so many days, he would have laughed in your face.<p>

Had you had then told him that said house guest would take it upon himself to become his personal nurse, he probably would have slapped you.

"Now, you sit down there Petey, and let Nurse Wade take care of you," Deadpool murmured, gently pushing Peter down to sit on his kitchen table before rummaging through his first aid kit.

"Have you been going through my medicine cabinet?"

The mercenary stilled for a fraction before replying, "well, yeah. You were clearly not gonna be able to tend to yourself, the wound being at that angle, so this made the most sense."

"Because you're all about being sensible," Peter couldn't help but gripe with a roll of his eyes.

To his surprise, Wade let out a booming laugh.

"You know, I can see why Spidey likes you so much. Not only do you take killer pictures, you're funny too!"

The bespectacled boy wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he just silently offered him a half-hearted shrug (his shoulder was starting to ache now that the adrenaline had worn off) and a small smile.

"Hey…" Wilson began as he upchucked the first aid kit onto the table; gauze, band-aids and bandages flying everywhere, "you uh…haven't seen our favourite arachnid anywhere, have you?"

Peter tensed, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he forced himself to sound casual.

"No, I haven't. Not in a few days. I just figured he was off doing Avenger stuff…"

The mercenary nodded, accepting that response before turning to him, his larger frame looming over Peter even as he sat at an elevated height.

"Take off your shirt."

Peter's heart hammered in his chest, blood rushing into his ears.

"W-What?"

Wade let out another laugh.

"Don't worry princess, I'll be gentle…" he cooed before his tone turned a little more serious, "I can't get at your wound with your shirt on."

Heat rose in the younger man's cheeks.

"Oh…right," he mumbled, his fingers slowly undoing his shirt, wincing as pulled his arms through one at a time and let it fall to the floor, leaving him in nothing but his undershirt.

_[Hubba hubba]_

_{How many times do I have to remind you about Point of View?!}_

_[Oh come on. Like I was gonna let this happen without saying anything. I'm only human]_

_{No you're not}_

_[Nope. But the big guy is. And he's damn near a heart attack]_

Peter cleared his throat, nervously avoiding Wade's frozen gaze as he stood in front of him, rooted to the spot, antiseptic in one hand and cotton ball in another.

"Uh, right—" the assassin seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had gone in to, "so…this will probably sting like a motherfucker."

Talk about not mincing words.

Before his patient could comment, Wade pressed the soaked cotton ball to his injured shoulder with unexpected care.

Peter held back a hiss as it did indeed begin to sting like hell despite the 'nurse's' gentleness, hoping against hope that his healing factor wouldn't quite kick in yet so that a bandage could at least be applied to cover the fact that his arm that would no doubt but as good as new in a short while.

"There. All clean!" Deadpool sing-songed happily as he wiped his skin, revealing the long but shallow wound that lay underneath the dried blood.

"Told you it was just a scratch," the web-slinger couldn't help but grouse.

"You did," Deadpool agreed before selecting a thin bandage and beginning to apply it.

Once he was done, he stepped back to admire his work with a tilt of his head.

Peter couldn't help but feel like he was being examined under a microscope and desperately wished he could bend down and pick up his shirt.

As if reading his mind, the merc did just that, kneeling to retrieve the shirt from off the floor, looking up on bended knee at the brunet, before holding the garment out for him to take.

Peter swallowed, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden as he hastily took the shirt from him, avoiding his gaze as he put awkwardly put it back on, ignoring the large blood stain marring it.

"Thanks," he said lowly to the floor as he hopped down from the table.

"Hey, I'm just returning the favour," Wade shrugged, standing up. "You did—oh what did you call it? 'Piece me back together like a grotesque puzzle' a few days ago, so it's no biggie."

The stark reminder of that harrowing experience burst through the forefront of his mind like a macabre film reel, before Peter shoved it back into the dark recesses of his brain with a shudder.

Purely for something to say, he gestured to the mercenary's attire, "nice hoodie, by the way."

Wilson glanced down at himself, "thanks. I made it myself."

At those words, Peter was reminded of earlier that day, something that he should probably talk to Wade about, occurring to him.

"You make your suit too, right?" he began, walking around him, forcing a laugh, "you know, I almost thought you were Spider Man the first time I saw you around town."

"Whatever you've heard, I did not copy the look…I just…perfected it," Deadpool winked, folding his arms, "besides, there's no way you could ever really mistake me for that string-bean cutie."

"You're telling me you're not cute under that mask?" the words erupted from Peter's mouth without his permission, he immediately regretting them; forcing himself not to wince in response as he leaned back against the wall.

"Hey," Wade stepped toward him, pointing a finger in his face, "I'll have you know that I'm fine as hell, okay? Some may say I even look like Canada's Sweetheart Ryan Reynolds!

"I don't know who that is…" the brunet shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Wade gave a scandalized squawk.

"How dare you," he gaped, "how could you not know who Ryan Reynolds is?!"

At Peter's continued blank face, he began to pace back and forth, listing on his fingers: "he played such iconic characters like a giant man-baby afraid to graduate college in Van Wilder, the kid forced into a green-card marriage to Sandy Bullock in The Proposal, the typical white dad who has a mid-life crisis and moves his family to live in a haunted house in the re-make of the already shitty Amityville Horror, and stars as yours truly decently for like five minutes before they fuck everything up in a bastardized attempt at making Wolverine remotely interesting in X-Men Origins and—wait, no, I hear it now. I guess I don't blame ya, kid. He's had a tough career. But I know a certain 2016 flick will change all that…" he trailed off, his tone suggestive, but to what, Peter had no clue.

Pushing off the wall, the younger man took a step closer to the merc, wondering how the hell he was supposed to broach this subject.  
>"Well, listen, Wade…" he began, his brain racing a mile a minute, "you know how I said that I mistook you for Spider Man at first because of your similar suits?"<p>

"Yeah."

"Well," Peter cleared his throat, taking another step closer, "turns out that the general public have too and…when you saved everyone from the bomb and well, exploded into bits…you left behind a scrap of your suit. Just a small red part and…well, everyone thinks it belongs to Spider Man and that he's…dead, you know 'cause he doesn't have the intense healing ability that you do and…hasn't been seen in a few days," he finished, practically gasping for air, glad that that struggle to explain things was done.

Silence met his words.

He watched carefully as Deadpool shoved his hands into his hoodie's pockets and took a seat on the vacated table, nonchalantly looking at the remote.

"Wanna watch a movie? That old shit Lunch at Walmart, Dinner at Target or whatever, is on."

"Breakfast at Tiffany's?" Peter asked, brow furrowed.

"That's the one!"

The brunet shook his head, not too surprised that the mercenary chose to ignore the fact that his heroic act was again being overshadowed and the credit being unjustly stolen by an Avenger.

Swallowing his guilt, Peter responded evenly, "maybe later. Turn on the news, I wanna see the report on the shooting at Jitters."

For once doing as he was told, Deadpool took up the remote and turned on the TV, flicking over to a news channel where, predictably, there was coverage of the coffee shop shooting from an hour before.

Gradually, Peter came over to stand next to his guest, they both watching in silence as the news anchor recounted the events:

"We've just managed to gain footage from a nearby traffic camera of the shooter from the building across the street from Jitters coffee shop. As you can see, the man in question, is a familiar one, his red and blue spandex suit seen clearly here as he—"

Not quite believing his eyes, Peter stopped listening as he saw a very familiar figure indeed come across the screen, rapidly fleeing the roof, a duffle bag large enough to fit the components of a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder.

"Whoa…" Wade murmured beside him, smacking his side with a heavy hand, "dude, I think we know why we haven't seen Spidey in a while. The guy's totally tryin' to kill you!"

* * *

><p><em><strong>DUN DUN DUN! The plot thickens! And whoa, over 7000 words…someone's tryin' to make up for being a procrastinating fuck.<strong>_

Hey, longer chapters means you're that much closer to getting it on with Spidey.

_**Who you've made a murderer, apparently.**_

*Sigh*

_**What? Don't blame me for your unrealistic plot! Like that sweet, adorable, ass-of-an-angel arachnid could ever hurt a fly…ha, ha, well, maybe he could hurt a fly, you know, being a Spider and all—**_

Okay, that's enough of that. Hope everybody liked the chapter :) don't forget to check out my tumblr _octoberobserver_ if that's your thing!

_**Sell out.**_


	7. There's Something About Peter

**Say Anything…Except That**

**By Cortexikid**

**Chapter 7: There's Something About Peter**

**_361 Days In The Future…_**

Peter Parker was never the kinda guy to actively think about how he would die.

Sure, when he got bitten by a radioactive spider, donned some spandex and began fighting crime on the regular, the thought flittered into his brain every now and again, but mostly, he focussed on the good he did, the people he helped, the bad guys he stopped…the successes.

The thing about success, though?

It's not final.

The famous words of Winston Churchill had reverberated around his room on those nights when the thought of his own mortality crept in from the dark recesses of his mind, preventing sleep, inducing heart-racing anxiety and forced him to accept certain truths.

"Success is not final, failure is not fatal, it is the courage to continue that counts."

This was never truer than after he lost Gwen.

Courage, like success however, is not final either. Despite what he may have lead the general public to believe, courage was not a constant state of being, not for him. There were days, where courage was so foreign a concept that Peter forgot its definition, forgot how the word sounded on his lips, forgot that he had ever felt it.

Watching her fall, her cerulean eyes wide with unshed tears…courage abandoned him, crippling fear instead embracing him like an old friend, clutching at him until he was numb.

After she fell, where it felt like he couldn't ever continue, couldn't ever possibly don the spandex and fight crime with his homemade web-shooters, a cheeky grin and a whole lot of luck ever again, there was only failure. Failure to get up some mornings, failure to get dressed, failure to let his mind ever wander from those moments in between the last time they spoke and he catching her that split second too late.

It was in those months, the long and agonizingly painful months as he silently grieved, that he allowed himself the luxury of facing his own mortality. Logically, he knew with the bite that he gained the power of accelerated healing, knew that his abilities had given him a chance…an advantage over the average person in fighting the inevitable, but it was by no means infallible.

He wasn't infallible.

Or invincible.

Hell, most days he didn't feel in the slightest amazing as some had dubbed his alter-ego.

Really, even on his A-game, that thought, that sheer fact of knowing that despite his best intentions, his best abilities and his desire to always end in success, Peter knew that it was only a matter of time.

When your time's up, it's up.

He may not have accepted that with his parents, or his Uncle Ben, or with Gwen, but it was something that he could accept for himself.

Had to accept.

He wasn't always going to win.

Because success wasn't final.

Failure wasn't fatal.

But death was…

"Peter?! Peter stay with me! Don't you dare close your eyes! Peter? Please don't leave me…"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present Day…<em>**

"Over my dead body!"

"That can be arranged…it is kinda what I do."

Peter glared at Wade, chest heaving angrily as he switched the TV off and slammed the remote back down on the table.

"Go ahead then…kill me," he growled, hazel orbs flashing dangerously, his head cocked to the side in livid defiance.

The mercenary snorted, folding his arms across his broad chest.

"You know, for someone who has a superhero already tryin' to kill them, you're way too chill about daring a trained assassin to do the same."

Peter's jaw clenched tightly.

"There's no way I'm letting you confront Spider Man, Deadpool," he repeated for the sixth time in the last five minutes, his initial panic at the notion abating with his rising ire.

"Pretty sure you can't stop me, Petey. No offense," Wade held up his hands and stepped closer to him.

Stubbornly, the brunet stood his ground as he continued to glare up at the taller man, fists clenched firmly at his sides.

"Pretty sure I can, Wadey. No offense," he replied curtly.

The merc hummed at that, taking another minute step towards him, leaning down to meet his gaze, their noses barely two inches apart.

"Oh yeah? And uh…how would you do that exactly, baby boy?"

Peter bristled at the familiar name. This wasn't a time where Wade was using it as a pet-name as he frequently did with Spider Man, though. This time he meant it derogatorily.

And that just pissed him off more.

Ignoring the rational part of his brain, the brunet stepped right into the mercenary's space, chin jutted defiantly as he reached up to poke him in the shoulder.

"You don't know—"

A loud knock cut him off.

"Peter? You in there? Be a good boy and open the door, this bag is heavy," the voice of his Aunt May wafted from behind his front door.

Hazel eyes widening, Peter gaped at Wade, before calling out: "just a minute, Aunt May," while waving frantically and hissing under his breath: "hide!"

Wade snorted, "yeah, that's not gonna happen."

"Oh yeah?" the younger man spat, tugging on the merc's sleeve, making sure not to use too much force, "'we'll see about that. 'Cause I'm sure as hell not explaining to my aunt why a known assassin is hanging out in my living room!" he finished, pulling Wade roughly down the short hallway.

"So instead you'd rather explain why a known assassin is hanging out in your bedroom?" the merc asked, smirk lacing his tone as Peter gave him a shove towards his bed.

"Ooh Petey…buy a girl a drink first!"

Peter rolled his eyes before pointing a finger in his face.

"Stay here!"

Wade mimicked him, lazily saluting, "aye aye, Captain Crazy."

Heart hammering in his chest, Peter shut his bedroom door with a snap, before crossing the short hallway and stopping at his front door, wrenching it open wide.

"H-Hi Aunt May! Let me take that," he plastered a smile onto his face as his aunt came into view, large grocery bag in her hands.

"Thank you sweetheart," she murmured, stepping into his apartment and subtly looking about her.

"Huh…I could have sworn I heard voices in here."

Peter stilled, his back to her as he deposited the groceries on the table.

"Oh it was uh…the TV," he responded, rubbing the back of his neck.

If he were to glance behind him, he would witness May's quirk of a disbelieving eyebrow as her gaze fell on the television that was clearly turned off.

_[Point Of View change!]_

_{Sigh}_

Deadpool silently opened the bedroom door a crack, peering out into the kitchen, having heard every word (damn the walls were thin), frowning as something occurred to him.

"Where the hell did he get that TV, anyway? That definitely wasn't here the other day. I specifically remember him saying he only had a shitty laptop," he whispered to himself, watching as the man in question began to unload the food from the bag with the older woman's help.

_{Continuity Error Alert!}_

_[Ooh, writer lady messed up]_

_{It was bound to happen sooner or later. She has had other important things on her mind}_

_[Like smutty sex scenes?!]_

_{No. Like pizzas and Netflix}_

"Thanks again for the TV," Peter began as if reading Wade's mind and overhearing the ongoing conversation between the boxes, "it really is a great house-warming present."

May placed a hand on her nephew's shoulder, "you're welcome, sweetheart. Ace gave me a good deal on it. I hope it wasn't too much trouble carrying it on the subway last night."

_[Handy how she can just explain that away, huh?]_

_{All hail The Powers That Be}_

_[We're not worthy!]_

_{Easy there Wayne Campbell}_

Wade watched the scene unfolding in front of him with mute fascination. This Peter, the loving nephew seemed…different to the snarky, pushy grad-student he had gotten to know over the last few days. He was gentler, quieter, but no less enthralling as he chatted and laughed and moved about his apartment in fluid motion, each movement seeming part of a well-worn dance.

How often did they do this?

Was this what a stable familial relationship looked like?

_[How the hell would you know?]_

_{He had Blind Al…for a while}_

_[Right…because their relationship was the picture of emotional stability]_

_{I think we've really got this sarcasm thing down}_

Shaking his head, Wade fought to rid any thought of the fire-cracker elderly lady from his mind, instead focusing on the one in front of him.

Because if one thing was for certain, May Parker was definitely that, albeit probably in a different way to Al.

_[Yeah. I mean, what are the odds that Petey's maternal figure also happens to be a super shady, lethal, laxatives enthusiast?]_

"I am surprised to find you home, Peter," May spoke up as she began brewing tea for herself, "aren't you usually at the lab at this time?"

Wade watched as the younger man nodded frantically, clearing his throat.

"Uh yeah…usually, but uh…Professor Rickards gave me the day off, in celebration of uh…my paper being published in next month's scientific journal," Peter rambled the lie, as if saying it faster made it any more believable.

A shrill, delighted squeal far too lurid to have erupted from such a small woman (who was now clutching her nephew in what seemed like a bone-crushing hug) startled Wade so badly that he jumped, bashing his knee off the door-frame and cursing loudly.

"What was that?" May asked, pulling away from Peter, her eyes travelling down the hall, just in time to catch a glimpse of Deadpool who was too slow in the confusion to step out of sight in time.

_[Uh oh]_

_{Incoming!]_

Frantically, the merc glanced around the sparse room for somewhere, anywhere to hide. Finding none, he paced back and forth, mind racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out what to do as he heard the now clearly desperate Peter trying to dissuade the woman from investigating.

"Aunt May really, I'm sure it was noth—"

"Peter, I could have sworn I saw—oh. Hello," she stopped dead in the now open doorway, her eyes landing on Wade who stood in the middle of the room, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, mask off, hood up.

"Uh…hi, Mrs Parker," he murmured, carefully avoiding the gaze of a certain brunet that was currently boring a hole into his now fully visible face.

May's eyes lingered between the two men before she elbowed her nephew, "Peter! Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

The younger man gaped, and when Wade's eyes finally rose to meet his, he found that they weren't laced with horror and disgust as he expected, but instead with something else entirely, something he couldn't quite identify.

"I—uh, Aunt May, this is…Wade. My…lab partner."

Were this any other type of situation, the mercenary would have laughed out loud at the ridiculous lie that the kid was actually trying to sell, but as it was, he didn't really find it productive so merely nodded, his gaze falling back down to his grubby converse, hating the sinking feeling of familiar discomfort that had settled in his gut.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Wade. I take it you're the gentleman with the lovely singing voice I overheard on the phone the other night?" May asked, taking a step towards the other man and holding out her hand for him to shake.

Wilson's head snapped back up, meeting the woman's warm eyes for a moment before staring down at her hand.

"That was me, yeah. Gotta hone my skills if I ever wanna be the next American Idol," he responded, forcing himself to shake her hand gently.

_{You're Canadian}_

_[And American Idol is so not a thing anymore, grandpa]_

"You're Canadian," Peter spoke up to Wade's surprise, eyebrows raised at the exchange in front of him, "so uh…thankfully for all of us, you couldn't enter even if American Idol was still a thing."

_[Whoa]_

_{It's like he can read our mind}_

_[Wait…can he read our mind? Don't think about sex, don't think about sex]_

_{And…we're thinking about sex]_

_[With Petey]_

_{And Spidey}_

_[No! Spidey's trying to kill Petey. That would surely end badly]_

"Peter, don't be rude! I thought you sounded great, Wade," May smiled warmly at Deadpool, before turning to her nephew, "well, I'll just go and set another place at the table for lunch. Really sweetheart, I would have thought by now that you and your friends would have outgrown hide and seek," she finished, an enigmatic grin on her face as she deftly stepped out the door and down the hall.

A silence descended on the bedroom, as the two remaining men refused to look at one another.

After a moment or two of awkward shuffling, Peter forced himself to speak lowly.

"You…took off your mask."

After five seconds or so, the merc shrugged, his head still lowered, eyes trained on the floor.

"Didn't wanna give the old lady a heart attack."

_[And exposing your ugly mug definitely wouldn't do that]_

_{Surprised she didn't have a coronary right then and there}_

"Seemed better to be faced with…this," he motioned to his scarred flesh, "than the mask of a 'known assassin,'" he air-quoted, repeating Peter's phrase from before.

The brunet nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, still avoiding his gaze as he replied: "yeah uh…good idea."

Deadpool shrugged again, fighting the urge to claw at his bare face by forcefully injecting some light-heartedness into his tone, "so…lab partner, huh? That's the best you could come up with?"

Peter glared at him, although it seemed a lot softer than his previous ones.

"It's the first thing that came to mind. If you hadn't been acting like a herd of elephants in here, I wouldn't have had to lie so badly in the first place!"

"Touché," he responded, tipping his imaginary hat and taking a step towards him, a frown now forming on his face, "but hey, when did I tell you I was—"

"Boys! Can you come help me in the kitchen, please?" May interrupted Wade, her voice drifting down the hallway.

The two men shared another glance before mentally preparing themselves for what they were about to endure, neither knowing fully what to expect.

As they made their way out of the room, Peter couldn't help but realize that this would be the first time since Gwen died that he and his Aunt May shared a meal that wasn't just the two of them.

In his new home, he and his aunt were actually going to dine with Wade 'The Merc With The Mouth' Wilson.

_What the hell was happening to the world?!_

* * *

><p>Joe 'Buck Shot' Blye's back slammed against the grimy tiled wall of Club Purgatory with a heavy thump, his legs buckling under his weight, causing him to slide slowly to the floor.<p>

Chest heaving with gasping breaths, the young man reefed off the mask that covered his face and threw it across the restroom, it landing underneath one of the dank toilets.

"You gotta get your shit together, kid," Jack 'Hammer' Reilly gruffly remarked as he rinsed his hands under the sink, the crimson-tinged water contrasting his pale skin as it washed down the rusty drain.

"Did you—did you have to have to beat the shit outta the bar-tender? He…said that he wouldn't say—"

"Look, kid," Jack turned to him, wiping his now clean hands on his jeans, "this bleedin' heart bullshit that you have goin' for you was cute for a hot second, but it ain't workin' in your favor now. The boss wants 'e wants, not a fuckin' runnin' commentary of whatever shit goes through that tiny head of yours. So do me a solid, clean your skinny ass and be ready when I call."

Joe gaped up at him, trying to calm his erratic breathing.

"Unless you like playin' dress-up," Jack leered, "that your thing, Joey? You got a thing for superheroes?"

The younger man hung his head, his eyes darting down to the large spider emblem on his chest.

"Why is the boss so interested in this guy Parker? Why change the plan from just takin' him out, to framing Spider Man for it?" he asked, the words just bursting from him like a dam as they had plagued him for the last 48 hours.

"You're not being paid to ask questions, Blye," Jack predictably responded, before stepping over him and heading to the door.

"No. I'm being paid to kill Peter Parker," Joe muttered, unable to look the other man in the eye.

"And you failed. Twice."

With those ominous words, Jack left the restroom, the door slamming shut behind him, with it shattering any and all sense of calm that Joe felt.

After what happened to Gio, he knew he was a goner.

With shaking hands, the young man forced himself up off the floor, gripping the sink tightly and staring into his reflection, grimacing as a scared, snivelling, pathetic kid looked back at him.

He was given 72 hours to kill the Parker kid and he didn't do it…couldn't do it.

See, the thing was, along with his many other 'half-truths,' Gio had told the anonymous (yet no less petrifying) boss that his little cousin was the man for the job, that he had a long list of hits of various backgrounds to his name.

Bullshit.

Truth was, he was no more of a 'buck shot' than Gio was an Honest Abe.

What was that saying? 'Fake it till you make it?'

He had killed people, sure, but he wasn't as proficient or neat as his cousin may have led others to believe. He had long since made peace with his misdeeds, but as far as he was concerned? Those guys deserved it. They were all of a certain 'type,' each having done deplorable things, but this grad student?

Let's just say, if he drove, he wouldn't even have a parking ticket to his name.

Usually, Joe subscribed to the notion of ask no questions and be told no lies, but in this case, the curiosity was killing him, long before the hilt of a blade or the lead of a bullet ever would. Having gotten the low-down on what Groves managed to find out about Parker (which was about as interesting as a weather report) the reasoning behind the hit just kept getting more and more intriguing.

The kid practically lived at Stark Industries, was enrolled at the local college in a graduate program, rented a dinky one-bedroom apartment and occasionally took pictures of Spider Man for The Daily Bugle. With the exception of that last one, everything about Peter Parker screamed 'normal,' 'average,' and even 'boring' in a world where aliens, superheroes and science fiction was becoming a reality.

So why did one of the most formidable crime bosses Joe had ever encountered, want him dead?

What was it about Peter Parker?

Before he could ponder on it further, the restroom door sprang open, banging off the wall with a thump and startling the young man.

"Come on Blye," Jack barked, standing back and holding the door open.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat to no avail, Joe nodded nervously and walked past his associate, out into the dimly-lit bar, ignoring the pained groans of the man that lay crumpled up on the floor and focussing on the pool-table, where a figure stood with their back to him.

"Mr. Blye," the robotic voice ripped through the air like a knife, "I don't think blue and red are your colours…"

The figure turned, revealing a tall, bald, African-American man in a suit, holding out a cell-phone, it apparently the source of the voice.

With a startled frown, Joe's eyes darted around him, for once noting various cameras that must have been installed as he freaked out in the restroom.

What the hell?!

"Forgive my inability to meet with you in person, but I am far too busy dealing with your recent failure," the disembodied voice continued, the words clipped with obvious distain.

"Boss I—"

"No excuses. Have some respect for yourself," the voice cut across him, "please note, Mr. Blye, that under any other circumstances, we would not be having this conversation. In this business, failure is not accepted and is swiftly dealt with…"

The tension rose several degrees at those words.

Joe felt his knees begin to quiver.

"However…I'm feeling charitable. So, instead of liberating your head from your shoulders like our dearly departed Gio, I've found something much more suitable for you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Jack shift back and forth, shoulders hunched, eyes firmly on the floor.

The intense feeling of dread sank in the younger man's stomach.

"The mercenary known as Deadpool. Bring him to me."

Joe's heart leapt into his throat, his eyes bugging with shock.

"That's suicide!" he exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing in the practically empty bar.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Blye, perhaps I made the mistake of letting you think you had a choice. Either you deliver me Deadpool, or my associate here delivers your head to your mother. This will be our final communication. I wish I could say it has been a pleasure."

The sharp click rang in his ears as the call was brusquely ended.

Creaking his neck from left to right, the man in the suit deposited the cell phone back in his breast pocket, before walking around Joe and halting a few feet from where Jack Reilly stood. Calmly and swiftly, he pulled out a gun with his gloved hands, fastening on a silencer and aiming it down at the bar tender.

Snivelling, the beaten and bruised man stared up at him from across the room, pleading, his voice bordering on hysteria: "no, no please—"

Two soft 'pip' sounds cut across him as the bullets lodged firmly in the centre of his chest, silencing him permanently.

The suited man then put it back in his holster before stalking over to the body, pulling out another gun, hunching down to the corpse's level and aiming it squarely at Jack.

"Hey whoa what the—"

The mobster was abruptly cut off as the suited man squeezed the trigger, another soft pip erupting from the gun, sealing Jack 'Hammer' Reilly's eyes open forever, decorating his forehead with a small, round wound, a solitary drop of blood falling from it like a crimson tear.

Joe stood rooted to the spot, shell-shocked as the guy with the suit took up the bar-tender's hand and pressed it against the second gun then depositing it on the floor, before straightening back up and approaching his now-deceased colleague with the remaining gun and doing the same.

Once satisfied, he stood back up, his dark, cold gaze boring into the horrified younger man.

"Tail the mercenary and find out as much about his routine as you can. Then bring him to this address. You have six days."

The 'or else' was silent, but no less present.

* * *

><p>"Holy Crap Balls Mrs. Parker! This has got to be the best lasagne I have ever had in the history of ever!" Wade Wilson exclaimed around mouthfuls of food, humming happily with each bite.<p>

The older woman chuckled, clearly amused as the three of them ate at Peter's small kitchen table.

"Thank you, Wade. I'm glad you like it. And please, call Me May," she smiled before catching her nephew's gaze and tilting her head towards the other man, her expression clearly trying to convey something to him.

With a frown, Peter merely stared at her.

Rolling her eyes, May set down her knife and fork and regarded the mercenary with a curious glance, "so Wade, how did you and my Peter meet?"

The clatter of a fork hitting a plate echoed around the small apartment before the brunet cleared his throat, his eyes darting nervously, "we met at Stark Industries. Professor Rickards assigned us to work together on a project last week."

May fixed her nephew with another inscrutable stare before focussing her attention on the bald man in front of her, who was now nodding along vigorously, "oh yeah, I know science. MythBusters, Bill Nye, Neil deGrasse Tyson, I'm all over that shit!"

_[She blinded me with science – science! And failed me in biology]_

_{Okay, creepy Todd}_

_[Oh Breaking Bad, how I miss you!]_

_{Roll on Better Call Saul}_

Peter forced a laugh, nudging Wade with his elbow with more force than strictly necessary.

"Wha—" the mercenary began to ask before catching sight of the pointed expression on the other man's face, "uh…what I mean is, I love science. Yay science!"

_[Nice save, Jesse Pinkman]_

May only smiled brighter and shook her head with amusement.

_[How come she's not freaked out?]_

_{How can she stand the sight of your melted pizza face?}_

_[Petey's definitely doing his best to avoid looking at you]_

"Peter," May's questioning tone broke Wade from his shattering realization, "what is that stain on your shirt?" she asked with a frown, nodding at the large spot of red at Peter's shoulder.

Wade felt the younger man tense in his chair.

"Tabasco sauce," he felt compelled to answer for him.

May looked between the two men, bafflement etched onto her face.

"You ate tabasco sauce for breakfast," she stated rather than asked with a disbelieving tone.

"Pancakes and tabasco sauce…breakfast of champions," Wade replied without missing a beat, before nudging Peter, "isn't that right, Petey?"

The brunet was snapped from whatever panicked trance he had fallen into as Wade's elbow connected with his ribs.

"Uh…yeah, that's right. Wade's has been…introducing me to uh…new delicacies."

_[Ba dum dum tish]_

_{This kid is just one innuendo after another. No wonder you like him so much}_

The older woman raised her eyebrow for what felt like the thousandth time in the last five minutes. Neither man was stupid, they knew she certainly wasn't buying what they were selling, but that was hardly Wade's fault. It was kinda cute that the kid sucked so much at lying to her, though.

_[Everything about him is kinda cute]_

_{Pity you had to go ruin everything with your Freddie Kruger face}_

The familiar sinking sensation lurched in his gut, churning his insides. The aching desire to cover his face was ebbing just under the surface of his skin, like a dull itch that he couldn't yet scratch. It had been a long while since he had been this...exposed in front of another person and he couldn't abate the nervous energy he felt every time either of the two glanced in his direction…especially Peter.

The kid was a special kind of gorgeous. A delectable mix of nerdy, cute and sexy that shouldn't have worked for him, but did. His hazel eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses, his messy Harry Potter-esque hair that fingers needed to be raked through, his narrow but well-built body hidden behind shirts that were at least a size too big, his 5'10" height a little stunted by his tendency to curl in to himself and of course that ass that you could bounce a quarter off…Wade couldn't remember the last time he was this captivated by someone.

_[Uh, yeah you can]_

_{You just don't wanna think about it}_

_[You're emotionally cheating on Spidey, admit it]_

_{Can you cheat on someone that doesn't technically reciprocate your feelings?}_

There was just…something about Peter that drew Wade in. He couldn't explain exactly what, but it transcended the physical. It was in the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way he tried to be a hero and had just accepted a mercenary into his home with barely the blink of an eye.

Bottom line, the guy was way out of Wade's league. Just like Spidey.

_[Story of your life]_

The shrill ringing of a cell-phone snapped Wade from his reverie, his eyes following Peter's hand as he snatched the device off the table, starred at the screen with distain and stood up.

"Sorry, I gotta take this. It's The Bugle."

With that, he walked down the hall, towards his bedroom.

With a jolt, it occurred to the mercenary that he was now very much alone with May Parker. Slowly, he forced himself to look up from his third helping of food, and found that the woman was indeed regarding him with a pleasant, albeit penetrating expression.

_[Whoa. There is never a good time to use the word 'penetrating.' Ever.]_

_{Well, except the obvious, of course}_

_[Yeah. So, unless there's gonna be some banging happening, keep the P word outta here]_

_{There…there isn't going to be any banging, right? 'Cause well, Aunt May is a cool lady and all but…no. Just…no.}_

_[Well, there's an image I'll never get outta my head]_

_{Doubt the readers will either}_

_[Writer lady is evil]_

Clearing his throat, Wade tried to desperately drown out his boxes and the frankly alarming direction of their conversation.

"So uh…you're Peter's aunt?" he asked lamely, forcing himself not to cringe.

Kindly, the woman ignored the pathetic attempt at conversation and placed her hand lightly on Wade's sleeve, leaning forward and looking straight into his eyes.

"I'm glad Peter has you as a friend, Wade. I was getting worried about him, being cooped up here all alone, only going to Stark Industries, the newspaper and college…it's nice to know that he has someone to come home to after a long day…" she trailed off, patting his arm.

The merc's eyebrows shot up at her tone.

"Oh no I—I don't live here or anything. I—I was just here this morning uh…helping Peter—"

The soft smile that broke out on the older woman's face silenced him.

"Oh of course," she agreed, "I wasn't suggesting otherwise. Still, it's been a rough few years for Peter. He has a tendency to…isolate himself, after everything that happened with Gwen and his falling out with Harry, I worried that he wouldn't make any new friends. But, I'm glad to see I was wrong."

The mercenary made sure that his confusion didn't register on his face at her words and merely nodded before she stood up and said the magic words:

"Would you like some dessert?"

Wade was half way through his gigantic slice of homemade apple pie when Peter came back into the room, a deep line having formed between his eyebrows.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" May asked as she placed a plate of pie in front of him.

"Jameson," he muttered darkly, before picking up a fork and stabbing at the pie vehemently.

"Oh no, what has he done now?"

Wade watched as a shadow passed over the younger man's face as he glared at the table.

"You saw the news? Apparently Spider Man shot up some coffee shop? Well, it was only this morning Jameson told me that Spider Man was dead, and now he's telling me he's alive but an attempted murderer…" he sighed heavily, his gaze flickering to the mercenary's for a fraction of a second, "well, now he wants me to email him a ton of photos of Spider Man, the ones that best say, and I quote: 'I'm-secretly-a-psychotic-lunatic-that's-finally-cracked-harder-than-Humpty-Dumpty' before 6pm tonight."

May grimaced, squeezing her nephew's shoulder with sympathy.

"Well, I don't care what the news or John Jonah Jameson says. Spider Man is no murderer, he's a hero…" she trailed off, letting her words sink in, before clapping her hands, "well, I better get going. I have a shift at the hospital tonight and I have to go get some sleep."

After another few minutes of pleasantries and May subtly taking note of everything that she would need to deliver to her nephew next time she visited to make sure he would continue to survive, Peter walked his aunt the short distance from the kitchen to the door, Wade silently following at a respectable distance.

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you home?" the brunet asked for the third time.

"Absolutely not. You boys have work to do, and I'm a grown woman. I can find my own way home," May dismissed with a wave, before reaching forward and placing her hand on Wade's forearm.

"It was lovely meeting you, Wade. I hope you will join Peter the next time he comes over for dinner," she smiled, squeezing his arm gently, before turning to her clearly startled nephew and smacking him gently on the shoulder.

"And you! Make sure you're getting enough sleep. And eating regularly. Honestly Peter, I don't know what Tony Stark has you working on, but it's not worth sacrificing your health," she finished, leaning up on her tip-toes and enveloping him in a tight hug, her eyes connecting with Wade's over her nephew's shoulder.

"That goes for you too, young man," she commented as she stepped away and opened the door, waving a finger between the two of them, "don't you dare be strangers. If I don't see you both over for dinner in the next two weeks, I will come down here myself and drag you out by your ears. Got it?"

Stunned and yet weirdly satisfied to have her badassery confirmed, Wade saluted the fire-cracker that was May Parker, "yes ma'am."

She tilted her head at Peter who blinked owlishly for a moment before nodding, his voice a little raspy as he echoed, "yes ma'am."

With that, May took her leave, turning on her heel and striding confidently down the hallway, towards the elevators and out of sight. Once she was out of ear-shot, Peter closed his front door with a snap and slowly turned to shiftily glance at Wade.

"Dude," the mercenary murmured, "I think your aunt has the hots for me."

"Gross," Peter grimaced, before storming over to his couch and plonking down onto it with a heavy sigh.

Wade's gaze tracked him, unable to look away as the silence stretched between them, the events of the weirdest week of his life (which was certainly saying something) starting to catch up with him.

"So uh…I better get going too," he found himself saying before he could over-think it.

Parker seemed surprised at that, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

"Unless…" Wade faltered, taking half a step forward before rubbing the back of his neck, the fact that he was maskless feeling the most evident in that moment, "unless you want me to stay? There is still someone trying to kill you…a someone that may or may not have superpowers and a really big rifle."

_[I bet Spidey's rifle is MASSIVE]_

_{The crotch kind definitely is. You have a six sense for those kinda things}_

_[Not that you'll ever get the opportunity to confirm it, though]_

"Spider Man is not trying to kill me," Peter groused, letting his head fall back onto the couch, "so no, it's fine, you don't need to stay. I've taken up enough of your time already."

The mercenary desperately wanted to argue with him, to tell the younger man that he would gladly spend his time protecting him from stray bullets and bombs and anything else that threatened to harm him.

_[Need I remind you that you know this kid like a week?]_

_{You're kinda ticking all kinds of boxes here}_

_[And not the good kinda boxes, like us]_

_{The creepy, restraining order kinda boxes}_

_[You called him 'baby boy' for fuck's sake]_

_{You only ever call Spidey that}_

_[It's your favourite term of endearment]_

_{You're so fucked}_

_[And not in the fun way]_

_{Put some distance between you before it gets embarrassing}_

"Uh…yeah, I should…get going. You know how it is, places to see, people to do," he responded, turning on his heel and walking to the door, resting his hand on the doorknob.

"We'll…we'll figure this all out, Peter," he threw over his shoulder, not believing the sincerity in his own voice, "in the meantime, take a few days off work, stay away from any public places and I dunno, hone your Call Of Duty skills or some shit. I'll—I'll uh…get in touch with some of my old contacts and see if they've heard anything about a nerdy Harry-Potter-lookin'-motherfucker pissing off some big wigs and get back to ya when I have somethin'…"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Peter sit up, his trim body rigid.

"You're not going to confront Spider Man, are you?"

"Not if you don't want me to," Deadpool retorted far too quickly and easily for his liking.

_[Dude, you're whipped already]_

_{Pathetic}_

"Good…" the younger man trailed off before standing up and walking towards him, "so I guess I'll…see you later, then?"

Fearing he'd never leave if he were to turn around, Wade kept his back to him as he nodded, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, glancing left and right to check to see if it was empty, before pulling back on his Deadpool mask that was shoved into the pocket of his hoodie.

Peter watched with an enigmatic expression on his face as the other man lowered his hoodie, the dim light of the corridor bouncing off his bald head, before the red and black mask was pulled over the heavily scarred skin.

The two men regarded one another for a moment, words having abandoned them both, when suddenly, something from earlier occurred to the mercenary.

"Hey, Peter?" he piped up, pulling his hood back over his now masked head.

"Yeah?" the brunet asked, leaning against his doorframe and folding his arms across his chest.

"When did I tell you I was Canadian?"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Ooh! I smell intrigue!<em>**

Is that what that smell is? I thought it was your feet.

**_Hey, I'll have you know that my feet smell like roses and lollipops!_**

Weird combination. And totally not true.

_**Face-sticking-out-tongue-emoji.**_

Exasperated-face-emoji.

**_You know you love me._**


	8. Crazy, Stupid, Wade

**Say Anything…Except That**

**By Cortexikid**

**Chapter 8: Crazy, Stupid, Wade**

Hi! Just a reminder that I do mess around with various canon in this fic so…yeah.

_**Nobody cares, writer lady. All anybody wants to know is when me and Spidey are gonna bang.**_

Well, I was planning this all out…and I have enough stupid titles for at least thirty-three chapters. So…when you do bang, it may go on for quite a while.

_**Sweet! Gotta love some marathon-sex. Holy shit, though. Thirty-three? I'll need to eat a lot of protein. You really wanna commit yourself to that? **_

I mean, it could be a lot less…or a little more, I don't know yet. But, if the plot stays strong and people want it, then sure, why not?

_**But you can hardly commit your favourite flavour of ice-cream!**_

True. However…I am an unemployed college graduate so…what else am I gonna do?

_**You got a point. What are some of the titles?**_

Oh I dunno. Things like "The Perks of Being A Mercenary," "Dude, Where's My Merc," "21 Hump Street," "Wade And Peter Make A Porno," "Spiderman Of Alcatraz," etc.

_**Whoa. I like the sound of Wade And Peter Make A Porno!**_

Of course you do.

_**And 21 Hump Street. I mean, I'm not really on the Tatum gravy train, but he's awesome in that and has rockin' abs so I ain't complainin'.**_

Glad I have your approval, Deadpool. Now, can I get on with the update?

_**Hey, I'm not stoppin' you, lady. Knock yourself out, break a leg, shoot yourself in the head, I don't care.**_

Your support is overwhelming.

_**What can I say? I'm a people-pleaser.**_

* * *

><p>A shock of russet hair descended on him, tickling his jaw as a trail of hot kisses peppered his neck.<p>

Wade hummed happily, raking his fingers through the brunet tresses, giving a little tug. The mouth on his neck dragged up his flesh to nibble on his earlobe before brushing against his lips, begging for entrance. Fighting back a grin, Wade opened his mouth as he ran his hand down the firm back, gripping the narrow waist confidently.

Tilting back, his head hit the couch arm-rest with a soft thump, just as a weight sat on his lap, two knees wedging themselves either side of his hips. Smirking at the new angle, Wade slid his hands down to rest on the cushy, tight ass that was now within perfect reach and giving it a good squeeze.

"Oh what a big booty you have, grandma," he murmured lowly, mimicking the fairy-tale girl, before a familiar chuckle sounded in his ear.

"You have the weirdest pick-up lines," Peter faux-admonished with a roll of his eyes, leaning back to look at the merc, that wondrous ass flush against the growing bulge in his pants.

"Hey it's the truth, not a line. I don't need one, I've already picked you up, figuratively and literally," he laughed, wiggling his non-existent eyebrows before bringing his hand up to cup the younger man's jaw.

The scowl on Peter's face softened at his touch, his hazel orbs falling closed.

"C'mere," Wade whispered, before gently pulling him forward, meeting him half-way and crashing his mouth into his, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

The kiss grew more and more impassioned as hearts raced and hands explored each other's body, sneaking under clothes to roam over skin.

Wade's fingers brushed over Peter's stomach lightly, causing the younger man to yelp and smack him away.

"Ooh Petey…is someone ticklish?" the mercenary asked with a smirk, deliberately touching him in that exact spot again.

"Don't you wanna be doing something more productive with those hands?" the brunet quirked an eyebrow at him, batting his hand away again as he ground his hips against him, creating the best kind of friction.

With a groan, Wade gripped him by the collar and pulled him back down on top of him, kissing him feverishly, his eyes falling closed.

Peter responded enthusiastically, pulling up his T-shirt over his head between kisses, and dropping it to the floor.

A loud bang sounded suddenly, startling Wade, forcing his eyes open as he broke away and looked up.

He gasped.

There, frozen on top of him, was Peter, his hazel orbs wide as he stared down at him, a large hole in the center of his chest, crimson blood dripping down his pale torso towards his naval like a macabre treasure trail.

"Peter what—fuck…" Wade yelled as he sat up, clasping the younger man's shoulders, his mind racing a mile a minute, scrambling to think of something, anything to do.

"W-Wade," Peter gasped as he fell onto his back, hands stained, bloody finger-prints panting his body.

"He had to go…" a familiar voice sounded behind them.

Slowly, Deadpool turned and was met by the sight of Spider Man, masked as ever, pointing the literal smoking gun at them.

"What…what the hell have you done?!" Wade asked, helplessly glancing from Peter to Spider Man and back again.

"I did you a favor," the arachnid hero spat angrily, throwing the gun to the floor, "that's all I ever do. Stick my neck out for you, put up with your bullshit, and what do I get? You gettin' all love-sick over some guy you only know a hot second."

Deadpool gaped at him before turning his attention back to Peter, pressing a hand to the wound, watching in horror as the blood seeped through his fingers like a crimson caramel.

"I mean, how long have we known each other, Wade?" Spider Man continued, seemingly ignoring the gravity of the situation, too wrapped up in his rant, "over five years! And suddenly, along comes nerdy college guy so what—bye bye Spidey?" he waved his hand in an angry flourish as Peter gasped for breath.

"What—you—it's not like I'm cheatin' on you, Spidey! We…we're not…a thing. We never will be a thing. I know that," Wade murmured lowly, his eyes still glued to Peter, unable to meet the web-slinger's gaze, even if he couldn't see it behind the mask.

"Do you? You built up this fantasy over the last five years…hell, three weeks ago this whole make-out-on-the-couch scenario would have featured me, not him. But no…now it's all about Petey Pie. Now I'm the bad guy, which just proves you're stupid as well as crazy," he paused, laughing hollowly, more harshly than Wade had ever heard him, "and I know why, too. It's 'cause I joined The Avengers, isn't it? It's 'cause they accepted me and not you, right? You're mad at me. Been avoiding me to the point that your subconscious has villainized me! You're only keeping up your childish awe for appearance's sake…" he trailed off, taking a step toward him.

"You didn't have to kill him," Deadpool muttered, ignoring the other man's claims as he pressed against Peter's chest.

"Oh Wade, I kinda did…" Spider Man cooed, closing the space between them, his tone infuriatingly sympathetic as he lay a hand on his shoulder, they both watching as the light dimmed in Peter's eyes, "you can't have nice things, remember?"

* * *

><p>Wade bolted upright on the couch with a yell, his eyes springing wide open in shock, knocking a bowl of popcorn and a half-empty beer to the floor with a loud crash.<p>

_{Easy there big guy…it was just a dream}_

_[A sexy dream]_

_{Until it wasn't}_

"But it…it felt so…real…" the Canadian gasped, trying to catch his breath as his heart hammered in his chest.

_[It was too soppy to be real]_

_{Not to mention…you know…completely unrealistic]_

_[Ha! Like Petey would ever make-out with an ugly mug like yours]_

_{Did you see the cutesy crap? What a sap!}_

_[Ooh are we rhyming now? Very Doctor Seuss! Petey's got a big caboose!]_

"Shut up," Wade groaned, dragging a hand down his bare face, his tired gaze falling onto the remote as his heart finally began to slow down.

_[The whole Spidey thing was totally on point, though]_

_{Yep. Nail on head}_

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Wade snapped angrily, palm to his forehead.

_[Look at him trying to play dumb]_

_{And he's usually so good at it}_

_[Not this time, Wadey Boy. You know exactly what we're talking about]_

_{You're replacing Spidey}_

_[You're so jealous that he's The Avengers' new golden boy that you're actually trying to make yourself believe that he's trying to kill Petey]_

_{You may be doing well at ignoring it while awake, but asleep…}_

_[That shit creeps up on you]_

_{You resent him. You just don't want to admit it}_

_[It's why you haven't gone looking for him in over three months. And only wanted to after the guy in his suit shot at Petey]_

_{Who is now your new distraction}_

_[Good luck with that, by the way]_

_{He's just as unattainable as Spidey}_

_[You really do have a type]_

Shaking his head, Wade swung his legs over the edge of the grubby couch and grabbed the remote, switching on the TV and flicking through the channels, hoping to drown the boxes out.

"—a fatal shooting at Club Purgatory," an anchor was saying as he left stopped at the news.

"Two bodies were found at the scene, the evidence suggesting that they shot one another. The first man is known to be a bar-tender at the establishment and the other has been revealed by the police to be Jack 'Hammer'—"

_{Weasel?!}_

_[Did that loser get himself un-alived?]_

Wade frowned, blearily staring at the TV, barely listening as the news anchor recounted the discovery of two bullet-riddled bodies at a nearby club yesterday morning.

Grumbling, he took out his cell phone and dialled a number he couldn't quite recall how he knew.

It rang four times before being picked up.

"Weasel Incorporated, Weapons and Tech for your mercenary needs, how may I be of assistance?" a familiar voice omitted from the phone.

Deadpool took a breath and leaned back on the couch, his foot resting on his knee.

"Huh. So you're not pushin' up daisies, sleepin' with the fishes or six feet under."

The silence that met him was palpable.

"What the hell do you want, Wade?! How did you get this number?"

The merc chuckled, shaking his head, "aww Weaz…what's got your panties in a bunch?"

A squawk of indignation erupted from the phone, "what's got my…are you serious?! You're actually tellin' me you have no idea why I'm pissed at you?! Motherfuc—"

_[Seriously, why is he mad at us again?]_

_{Fucked if I know}_

"Yeah, yeah, that's nice, Weaz. Listen, just lettin' ya know that some guy with your name got himself dead at some club downtown," Wade interrupted the other man's long-winded tirade down the phone with an air of dismissal.

"And another thing you fucking pric—what?" Weasel halted mid-way through his rant, "what are you talkin' about?"

Wade, forgetting that the nerd couldn't see him, waved a hand in the direction of the TV, "it's all over the news. Some guy called Jack Hammer something was shot at a club, some bar-tender too. Made to look like they shot each other but screams professional hit, if ya ask me…" he trailed off, picking up the bowl of popcorn, fishing out what remained and shoving it into his mouth.

"I heard of that hit," Weasel remarked, his tone still tinged with anger but now with a hint of intrigue, "I've been hearing a lot, lately…"

_{How very predictable}_

"That's part of the reason I called," Deadpool played along in their well-worn game, "other than checkin' up on my ol' buddy's welfare, of course."

A humourless laugh erupted from the phone.

"What do you want to know, Wade?"

And so Deadpool recounted the tale of Peter Parker and the illustrious hit placed on him, leaving out any personal details that could be used against him (he wasn't in the fully-trusting business, after all) and waited for his old-acquaintance's response.

"Did you…did you say Peter Parker?"

Wade sat forward, elbows pressed against his knees.

"Why? You know him?"

Another hollow laugh sounded from the other man.

"Figures you don't remember. Yeah, you could say I know him. The bastard stole my life."

_[Well, say hello to our Prime Suspect, ladies and gentlemen]_

* * *

><p>Peter Parker was a lot of things.<p>

A loving nephew, a studious student, a hard worker, and a dedicated crime-fighter. One thing he was not however, was the best time keeper.

"Hold the elevator!" he yelled as he sprinted towards the metal box, desperately clinging to his bag, books and notes while also trying to put on his lab coat.

"Thank you," he mumbled, twisting at an awkward angle as shoved his arm through the sleeve.

"You're welcome, Mr. Parker," a devastatingly familiar voice replied, with just a hint of amusement.

Slowly his head turned, hazel eyes meeting the cerulean gaze of Selena Rickards. His professor. And boss.

"Professor Rickards, I uh…didn't—didn't see you there," he stammered, clearing his throat, "I'm just on my way to the lab now I—"

"Relax, Peter," Rickards interrupted him with a wave of her hand, "if I wanted to punish people for being tardy, I would have become a high school teacher like my mother wanted me to. I was only going to congratulate you again on being selected for publication in the journal," she paused, offering him a small smile.

Peter visibly deflated, relaxing at her tone, a little embarrassed to have reacted in such a way in front of her.

Dr. Selena Rickards was a remarkable scientist. Not only was she one of the most renowned this side of the equator, the winner of multiple awards, but a published author and motivational speaker, all at the tender age of twenty-seven, to boot.

Peter had followed her career for a number of years now, and nearly passed out when Tony told him that he was to work with her as a part of a research team. He was determined to prove himself to her, but also was just giddy at the very thought that he got to learn from a mind as distinguished as hers. Needless to say, he was a fan.

"Peter…" the professor called, waving a hand in front of his face, snapping him from his reverie, "you still with me?"

Shaking his head, the brunet threw her a wry smile before nodding, "yeah, sorry. I—really owe it all to you, Professor. You're the one that nudged me in the right direction, towards the AOC research. If it wasn't for your advice, I'd still be hung up on the undiscovered capabilities of LK90. And honestly, it was starting to drive me a little nuts…" he trailed off with a shrug of his shoulder.

A beautiful smile broke out on Rickard's face before she shook her head, her auburn tresses glinting against the light of the elevator, "you did all the work, Peter. You deserve all the credit. I know what it can be like to get stuck in your own head and let the work creep up on you, I was happy to help in any way I could," she paused, tilting her head, "and please, I keep telling you, Peter. Call me Selena."

Peter nodded, hiding a pleased grin behind his hand as the elevator stopped at floor 13, notorious for housing Tony Stark's private lab.

"I have a meeting with Mr. Stark in ten minutes, which you know, means I actually have at least an hour to kill," Selena smirked as she stepped out, looking at him over her shoulder, "so, I'll probably be down to you and Edward soon. Make sure he doesn't blow anything up, won't you?"

A nearly-hysterical laugh bubbled up Peter's throat as the elevator doors closed, trying not to let it show just how unnerved he was by how many times he indeed had to prevent Eddie from levelling the building with one of his experiments.

Heaving a sigh, he pressed the button for level 9 and mentally prepared himself for another draining day of research. With all the evasive tactics he had used in order to keep out of any danger zones on the way to work, he was already behind schedule, but at least he knew he (and all the innocent bystanders around him) were safe inside Stark Industries. There was no way any sniper would be crazy enough to take a shot at Iron Man's place of business.

But even with these assurances, and no matter what Peter told himself, it wasn't enough to fully put his mind at ease. He hadn't heard from Wade in over three days, and despite not having any other incidents since the coffee shop, he knew that things were far from over.

Someone was literally gunning for him, for whatever reason, and was now framing his alter-ego for it. He had spent the last seventy-two hours raking over all the limited information he had managed to scrape together from what he stole out of his neighbour's apartment (before the cops cleared the scene) and had come up with exactly zero theories on who could be behind all this, and why.

As the merc flittered into his mind, Peter winced, unable to stop thinking about the last time they saw one another.

* * *

><p><strong><em>77 Hours Earlier…<em>**

"When did I tell you I was Canadian?"

Peter froze, his heart lurching at Wade's words.

_Oh shit._

Staring blankly at the him, Peter's brain stuttered along like an old car leaking oil, his synapses backfiring and struggling to stay on track.

"Uh…" he murmured, shoving his hands in his pockets and avoiding the other man's curious gaze, "Spider Man told me."

If Wade had distinguishable eyebrows, they would have surely shot up his forehead.

"Spidey talks about me?" he questioned, a tinge of excitement in his tone that was overshadowed by a cloud of confusion and suspicion.

The brunet found himself nodding along vehemently, rambling, "sure, yeah, he's mentioned you a few times. You guys have worked together, right?"

Deadpool shrugged, "oh yeah, me and Spidey have had many the adventure over the last five years," he faltered suddenly, his head lowering slightly, "though I guess that's a thing of the past, now."

Peter frowned, "why's that?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"He's trying to kill you. Duh. And associating with an attempted murderer would really ruin my street cred," Wade shrugged again, a smile present in his voice, the irony in his statement not lost on him.

A spike of irritation flared in the younger man's veins.

"Didn't think you were judge and jury as well as executioner," he snapped, taking his hands out of his pockets and folding his arms across his chest.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the merc asked, sounding genuinely confused at his steel-edged tone.

"What I mean is," Peter began, taking a step towards him, "you've known Spider Man for over five years now, and after one news report of some guy wearing a similar suit shooting at a coffee shop, you're suddenly willing to believe he's gone over to the dark side?!"

"Well, they do have cookies," Wade snorted, trying and failing to mask his surprise at the brunet's outburst, "why the hell do you care so much, anyway? It's your life that's being threatened here, dude. You should be the most pissed."

Peter paused, trying to relax, "I am pissed. But I still don't think you've enough to go on that warrants you not working with Spider Man anymore. I thought you…I thought you liked him?" he asked, trying and failing to ignore the hilt of hurt that had somehow managed to bleed into his tone, it only further galling him to continue, "the way he tells it, seems like he stuck his neck out for you more than once, when no-one else wanted anything to do with you."

Despite not being able to see his face, the younger man knew that he had hit a nerve by the way the mercenary's entire body tensed and angled away from him.

"Yeah well, I never asked him to do that," Wade retorted curtly, all traces of levity gone from his tone, fists clenching at his sides, "he doesn't owe me shit, I never needed or wanted his damn charity!" he threw up a hand, taking a step back, "look, I'd like to believe that Saint Spidey isn't trying to un-alive you kid, but truth is, I haven't seen him in over three months and ever since he started hangin' out with those Avenger assholes, he's not been the same!"

Peter felt as if a bucket of ice-water had been dumped on him.

It was hard to tell with his mask on, but Wade seemed just as shocked by his explosion as Peter was if his jittering hands and restless shuffling were any indication

"What? Where the hell did that come from?" the brunet gaped, not believing what he just heard, "I—you always go on about how great the Avengers are! What are you talking about?!"

Wade was backing away however, hands held up in surrender as he walked backwards down the corridor.

"I—forget it. I gotta go. I'll see you later, Peter," he gave a two-fingered salute (the civil kind, for once) before turning on his heel and storming away.

Peter rushed out the door, "Wade? Wade wait—" he broke off, throwing up his arms in frustration at the lost cause, the man having already turned a corner and out of his field of vision.

_What the hell was that all about?!_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present…<em>**

"Peter, my man, you're just in time for the show," the cheery tone of Edward 'Eddie' James called as he snapped safety goggles on over his eyes and leaned towards his work station, his hands inching towards a large circuit box that was attached to an even larger machine made up of cubes and spheres.

"Is that the high-powered SH Laser Weapon System?" Peter asked as he drew closer into the lab, careful to avoid the device's trajectory, side-stepping a hefty mannequin wearing a helmet that was directly in its path.

"Yep," Eddie grinned, rolling up his sleeves before rubbing his hands together in what could only be described as pure glee.

"The same laser that Mr. Stark expressly told us not to touch," Peter stated rather than asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yep," his companion beamed, popping the 'p' with a toothy grin.

"Remind me again how you still have a job?" the brunet asked with an amused shake of his head, putting down his bag and books before coming to stand next to Eddie.

"'Cause I'm just too damn handsome. All the ladies would be inconsolable if Stark ever fired me. Some dudes, too," he winked before shrugging, "face it Parker, I'm like the black Ryan Gosling around here."

Peter snorted, chuckling a little. Ever since Eddie started working with him four months ago, things around the lab certainly became a hell of a lot more amusing. The guy just exuded humor and an all-round cheerfulness radiated about him, it downright infectious at times. Couple that with the fact that the guy was a categorical genius, and Peter found it easy to cover for him when he got a little too 'enthusiastic.'

"If Ryan Gosling was a giant nerd, sure," he smirked, watching intently out of his peripheral vision as Eddie tinkered around with the circuitry.

"Hey, it's like my little cousin Miles always says," Eddie shrugged, waving around the screw-driver in his hand, "everybody's at least a little nerdy. Even A-List Hollywood stars."

"Spoken like a true nerd," Peter laughed, rifling through his drawer to fish out his goggles.

"Hey, isn't it the age of the geek? I'm pretty sure it is. What's Miles always saying?" Eddie was apparently asking himself, scratching his chin with the screw-driver, "oh yeah! And the geeks shall inherit the Earth."

Peter snapped on his goggles and walked back over to stand by his friend, "Miles sounds like one smart kid."

"Oh he is," Eddie nodded vigorously, "trust me, Parker. That kid is going places," he paused, closing back up the circuit box with a dignified snap, "alright, that should do it. Let's power this baby up!" he yelled, spinning in a flourish towards his lab partner, a grin akin to that of the Cheshire Cat spread across his face, his chestnut eyes alight with boyish excitement.

"Mr. James! I hope that is not the SH Laser System I'm seeing or so help me I'll have you outta here so fast you'll travel through time," the clipped tone of Dr. Rickards sounded as she entered the lab with an air of professional grace.

Eddie and Peter exchanged sheepish glances.

"No Doc, this is definitely not the SH system. And I was absolutely not about to power it up," Eddie boldly lied, throwing a large sheet over the machine, trying and failing to adopt an innocent expression.

"I'm sure it isn't, and I'm sure you weren't," Selena retorted, her tenor making it abundantly clear that she believed nothing of the sort, "just as I'm also equally sure that when whatever it is, is returned, you won't need to enter the security code that Mr. Stark recently changed to 310156."

With a silent nod, Eddie shrugged at Peter and began to push the gargantuan device out of the room, back towards the adjacent room that was supposed to be off-limits to personnel of their level of security clearance.

Once he was out of ear-shot, Selena leaned towards Peter, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Peter, Vivienne from the lobby just called me. Apparently there are two people downstairs that want to see you? They say they're police detectives."

Peter's stomach sank.

Well, that couldn't be good…

* * *

><p>A stinging cramp jolted Joe Blye's calf as he shifted uncomfortably behind a dumpster, hunkered over lowly, stealing quick glances at the building across the street.<p>

The mercenary known as Deadpool, had been cooped up there for the last few hours, having entered in the early hours of the morning, carrying what looked like enough take-out to feed a small army.

He had found his residence. Honestly, Joe didn't think he'd even get this far.

After a few false starts, losing the merc in crowds and even empty streets (his evasion tactics were impressive) and one time following the wrong person altogether (similar red hoodies) Blye had pretty much accidentally stumbled across Wilson's temporary living quarters.

Despite now knowing where the mercenary lived, it did nothing to ease the knot of distress that had firmly lodged itself in Joe's chest. The man's reputation was renowned in all criminal circuits, the name Deadpool instilling fear in even the most distinguished crime-bosses, and yet, here he was, the rookie with limited experience, hired to track the man down and somehow convince him to come to the address of a club where two murders was recently committed.

Piece of cake.

As that sour thought crossed Joe's mind, the man in question appeared, exiting the apartment building dressed in a plain black hoodie and jeans, heading west.

Waiting a beat, Joe stood up, shaking his dead-leg, watching as Wilson walked, his shoulders slouched, head lowered and hands shoved in his pockets.

Biting his lip and taking a breath that didn't calm him in the slightest, the rookie began to follow the mercenary who seemed to have a clear destination in mind, crossing the street and heading left.

Keeping a safe distance, Joe trailed Deadpool all the way to a food truck labelled 'Sam's Tacos', frowning as he witnessed the merc opening up the back door, jumping up into the van and slamming the door behind him.

From his perch around the corner of a nearby building, Blye took a moment to psych himself up before quickly and quietly stepping over to the truck, pressing his ear up against the door, trying to hear what was going on inside.

"One way, or another, I'm gonna find ya, I'm gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha…"

Joe frowned as he heard the enthusiastic singing waft from behind the door.

_This guy really is—_

Suddenly, the door burst open, knocking him to the ground, flat on his back. Dazed, he found himself staring up at the sky, but before he could react, he was being reefed up by his collar and thrown into the van, his back smacking against the second closed door, the thump reverberating loudly in his ears.

"Okay, you little shit," Wade Wilson spat, bringing his scarred face within an inch of Joe's, his breath bouncing off his cheek, "you better explain why the hell you've been following me the last three days, very badly by the way, or I'm gonna introduce your face to your ass hole, got it?"

* * *

><p>Peter couldn't help but notice the dozens of stares he was receiving from his colleagues as he shuffled quietly behind the two police detectives towards one of the conference rooms.<p>

Soft, curious murmurs followed him down the corridor, the rumor mill surely well and truly up and running, no doubt pondering why he, the nerdy newbie that Tony Stark brought in himself, was being questioned by the NYPD.

It was exactly the kind of publicity that Peter had always wanted to avoid. What was the point of having a secret identity, if your real identity could end up being blown to hell?

"Mr Parker, please, take a seat," the female detective spoke as they entered the room, as her male partner pulled one of the wheeled chairs and gestured to it.

Clearing his throat, Peter sat down as the two detectives took a seat opposite him, placing a manila folder on the table in front of them.

"Now, as we said before, I'm Detective Beharie, this is my partner Detective Cassidy," the female cop began, "we're just here to ask you a couple of questions, Mr. Parker. First, could you tell me your whereabouts at 11:45am on Thursday morning?"

Peter's heart leapt into his throat. Biting his lip, he took a moment to weigh his options, before deciding that there was no point in lying.

"I was at Jitters coffee shop," he answered, "this uh…this is about the shooting, right?"

The two detectives exchanged glances, before Cassidy asked, "is there any reason why you didn't stick around to talk to the cops?"

The brunet forced himself to meet his eye, "I didn't know anything that could help the cops. I was fine. Nobody else was hurt…and I was seriously late for work. I—I had a really important meeting that I couldn't miss."

Detective Beharie nodded, opening up the manila folder to reveal and black and white picture of him standing beside the barista.

Deadpool must have missed a security camera.

"This is you at Jitters, correct?" she inquired, pointing at the photograph.

Peter nodded.

Beharie pushed that picture aside to reveal another.

Hazel eyes widened slightly as Peter recognized it as a close-up still of himself, standing in a crowd outside his apartment building.

"And this is also you, Mr. Parker?"

He nodded, his throat dry.

"So…let me get this straight," Cassidy said suddenly, pushing out of his chair and standing, "you've been at the sites of two shootings, and you didn't think it was relevant to talk to the police?"

"I did speak to the police, they interviewed everyone in my building," Peter retorted, willing himself to stay calm as the cop began to pace back and forth in front of him.

"Yes, you did," Cassidy agreed, "you said that you saw, nothing? Heard, nothing?"

Peter didn't bother to dignify that with a response.

"You see Mr. Parker," Beharie jumped in, "there is only one thing that we can find that connects the two shootings," she paused, sliding the two pictures to lay beside each other, placing a hand on each, "care to take a guess what that is?"

Cassidy stepped closer to him, leaning down with a condescending expression on his face.

"I'll make it easy for you, kid. The only two things that these two shootings have in common…is you. Now, after speaking to witnesses from both scenes, it seems that you were within a few feet of both attacks…you can't blame us for finding that a little…note-worthy."

Peter shrugged, "I suppose that's understandable, but I assure you Detective, I don't know anything that can help."

Beharie quirked an eyebrow at him, "in that case, care to tell us what your relationship to Spider Man is?"

He turned his head to regard her, "I barely have one. He…tolerates me taking pictures of him. That's all."

"And yet, there's evidence that he may have tried to assassinate you at least once, probably twice," Cassidy stated rather than asked as he leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

"Maybe I took an unflattering picture of him," Peter smirked.

"Mr Parker," Detective Beharie sat forward, catching his eye, "it cannot be a coincidence that you've been present at two shootings involving snipers. Your life could be in grave danger. Anything you could tell us about Spider Man, even the slightest thing, could be incredibly helpful."

Peter stared at her, before snorting with thinly-veiled irritation, "you actually think Spider Man is going around shooting a rifle to try and kill me? The guy is…" he shook his head, "he helps people, not kills them."

Beharie sat back in her chair, nodding, "and that may still be the case. But until we know for sure, we have to take what we see in front of us as the truth. Someone matching the appearance of who we know as Spider Man shot up a coffee shop and possibly your apartment building."

Peter threw up his arms, "and what is it exactly you want me to do? Authenticate his suit, or something?"

The partners exchanged glances before Beharie turned back to Peter, a resigned expression on her face.

"Actually Mr Parker, we want you to help us catch him."

* * *

><p><strong><em>*Sniff*<em>**

Are you…are you crying?

**_N-No._**

You sure? You know it's okay to cry, Deadpool.

**_*Sobbing* THEY'RE RE-CASTING HIM!_**

Oh no. I was hoping you wouldn't find out quite yet.

_**Andrew Garfield! My sweet summer child!**_

Well, I mean, I suppose something good could come out of this.

**_What good could possibly come out of the world being deprived of that hot British ass in tight blue and red spandex?!_**

Hopefully less crazy Sony product placement?

**_Oh yeah. That is annoying as fuck. But uh…for the sake of story, we're just gonna ignore this, right? Spidey isn't gonna magically change in appearance or anything, right?_**

Nope. Too late to go back now. But out of curiosity, who are your picks to replace Garfield?

**_Donald Glover, Alfred Enoch, Dylan O'Brien and Ben Schnetzer, in that order._**

You know, for someone who is so torn up about it, you answered that pretty quickly.

**_What can I say, I have a vested interest. The sooner I know who's cast, the sooner I can start all my sexy new fanart!_**


	9. The Perks Of Being A Mercenary

**Say Anything...Except That**

**By Cortexikid**

**Chapter 9: The Perks Of Being A Mercenary**

_**Finally, an update. About damn time! I thought you'd died or somethin'.**_

Well, I do have a social life outside of you, ya know Deadpool.

_**Really? 'Cause I know for a fact you wasted a whole day binge-watching The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.**_

Which was awesome so I have no regrets—

_**And like four more making gifs for your lame Tumblr blog.**_

They're rich words coming from the guy who has a Facebook dedicated to all the different ways he has killed himself.

_**That's not lame, it's macabre. There's a difference.**_

Whatever. Can you please stop giving away state secrets of what happens in between chapter updates?

_**State secrets? Ha! Who do you think you're foolin' lady? It's no secret that you're an unsociable loser.**_

An unsociable loser who holds the keys to Petey's chastity belt.

_***Cough* Did I say unsociable loser? I meant beautiful social butterfly!**_

* * *

><p>"Is this a sex thing? Please tell me this isn't a sex thing…"<p>

"Aww, Petey! You're no fun," Wade Wilson murmured, folding his arms and quirking an eyebrow at the horrified brunet as they both stood in front of a gagged man, heavily bound to a chair.

"Seriously Wade, what the hell is this?!" Peter Parker exclaimed, his gaze glued to the twenty-something man who was silently watching them, his amber eyes darting back and forth between them with a panicked gleam, a large purple bruise forming on his jaw.

Deadpool sighed, before stepping closer to him, "this Petey Pie," he began, gesturing over his shoulder, "is the ass-wipe that tried to kill you…"

* * *

><p><em><strong>6 Hours Earlier…<strong>_

"Actually Mr. Parker, we want you to help us catch him."

Those were the words that echoed in Peter's mind as he made his way back to his apartment, rolling his aching shoulders with a grimace. He and Eddie had been working since the early morning on the latest batch of nano-trackers that Stark Industries were adapting. He and even brought a couple home to work on, knowing he could do some tinkering to them when he insomnia kicked in.

It had been a long day, even more so after his conversation with the cops. Honestly, the last time he could remember being just as nervous as he was walking back to the lab with curious eyes following him every step of the way, was when he was in High School and was trying (and failing) to not make a fool of himself in front of Gwen.

With this however, there were larger ramifications than looking like a complete tool in front of a smart and beautiful woman…

Namely, how did he appease the cops by helping catch his alter-ego, without, you know, either letting himself get captured, or being placed under suspicion by refusing to help in the first place?

Thankfully, they had let him go before he had to scramble to think of something. 'We will be in touch,' they said, each syllable sounding more ominous than the next. Peter felt Cassidy desperately wanted to add a 'don't leave town' after that, but with one stern look from his partner, thought better of it. Still, the words were implied.

Peter was starting to get antsy. Along with the unwanted scrutiny, he hadn't gone on a decent patrol in nearly two weeks (the longest he could remember in recent times) and now, with everything that had been going down, it didn't look like the safest time to start back up again. Realistically, he knew that the rest of the Avengers could handle anything that came up, but, they weren't the nightly-patrol-to-combat-everything-from-petty-crime-purse-snatchers-to-felony-murder types, they were the call-us-in-when-the-whole-city's-gone-to-hell-and-the-cops-can't-handle-it types.

_There is always Deadpool…_his mind supplied him helpfully as he made his way up the flights of rickety stairs in his apartment building.

He almost scoffed, not believing that he was even entertaining the idea, but something stopped him from fully discarding the notion. Sure, in the past, Deadpool hadn't been the most…responsible, or reliable, when it came to public safety. But he had his moments. Especially lately.

_Pity he seems to hate you now…_

Peter frowned as he again cast back to what Wade had inadvertently blurted out the last time they'd spoken.

"I'd like to believe that Saint Spidey isn't trying to un-alive you kid, but truth is, I haven't seen him in over three months and ever since he started hangin' out with those Avenger assholes, he's not been the same!"

Despite his best efforts, Peter had been unable to drown out those words, they creeping up on him in every quiet moment throughout the last three days, evoking a sense of unease in his veins. He hadn't wanted to face it at that moment, but upon reflection, he had an awful feeling he knew exactly what they were about…

Perhaps he had taken it for granted in the past, hell, maybe he had even taken advantage of it on occasion, but Wade's admiration of Spider Man had been a steady constant since their first meeting over five years ago. One constant that now seemed less so, and that just didn't sit well with the web-slinger.

But not for the reasons one may think.

Was it nice to not have absolutely everyone deem him a public menace? Sure. Was it fun to have someone that could keep up with his level of witty banter and endless pop-culture references? Undoubtedly. But that wasn't why Peter appreciated Wade's slightly unorthodox fanboying of him.

When the two had met for the first time, the young high school graduate had gone through his fair amount of physical, emotional and psychological trauma. Losing Gwen, especially not that long after losing his uncle, coupled with the guilt over Captain Stacy's death and Harry's decent into madness and villainy, Peter was…in a bad place, to put it lightly.

Truthfully, that night on the roof with Deadpool, reciting old Donnie Darko quotes, was the first time that that hollow ache in his chest had lessened, even minutely. It was a welcome break from having to keep up his patented bravado, his teasing nature as Spider Man (it was part of his shtick after all) but it hadn't rang true, not in a long time.

After that night however, with the added levity of the merc's slightly unhinged mannerisms and admittedly amusing sense of humor, Peter found that it wasn't so hard to find the silver lining, however odd, macabre or plain crazy, in the every day anymore.

Not that he'd ever admit it.

Which was why, as he climbed the last flight of stairs, his black and white converse sneakers scuffing on the rough wooden floor, that he couldn't quite shove down the rising guilt he felt…the shame.

Because Wade was right.

Since joining the Avengers, he hadn't been the same.

And honestly, Peter was surprised that Deadpool hadn't called his alter-ego on his bullshit long ago.

He deserved it.

And more.

With a shake of his head, the brunet refused to think of that night, the fateful night over a year ago that began his transformation from teenage-come-young-adult-lone-vigilante to the mature-and-valued-team-member of the infamous Avengers.

The very same night where Peter realized that despite his best intentions, he still had the capacity to be a complete and utter dick.

It hadn't been his proudest moment.

And he had admittedly spent a large chunk of time avoiding Deadpool after the fact.

Not that the merc hadn't made it easy for him. Wade had practically disappeared off the face of the earth and had only reappeared in New York a little over six months ago.

They had interacted a little since then, swapping a few quips here and there, but now that Peter really let himself reflect on it (and being immersed in the real wacky world of Wade Wilson recently) he came to the understanding, right there on the last step of the staircase, that it had all been completely disingenuous.

Spider Man and Deadpool had just been going through the motions.

Keeping up appearances.

"No wonder he thinks Spider Man is tryin' to kill me. He still hates the guy," the brunet couldn't help but mutter under his breath, ignoring his lapse into the third person as the realization rocked him to his core.

"Peter?" a voice broke him from his reverie, before he could dwell on anything further.

Frowning, his hazel gaze rose to meet his Aunt May's, heart lurching in his chest as he raked in her frazzled and pale appearance as she stood at his door, wringing her hands.

"What's wrong?" he asked sharply, dread rising from a pit in his stomach as he approached her, clasping her shoulders gently.

"Oh Peter…" May murmured, looking up into his face, her brow furrowed, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, "it's the house…it's been robbed."

* * *

><p>Russet glistening orbs swept the darkened room with practiced skill and intensity, gun raised and back to the wall, the expensive grey suit rubbing gently off the well-worn wallpaper.<p>

"You aren't starting to lose your edge are you, Mr Daniels?" a robotic voice pierced through the gloom.

The man in the suit, Daniels, halted, squinting into the darkness.

"Chenko. Always a pleasure," he replied drily, holstering his weapon.

"Forgive the cloak and dagger theatrics," the voice continued as the outline of a body standing up from a chair could be made out in the dimness.

Daniels took a step forward, fastening a loose cuff-link, tilting his head.

"You value your anonymity. I respect that."

"And that's why you're my number two," Chenko responded without missing a beat, their mechanical tone as disconcerting as ever.

Daniels clasped his hands in front of him, waiting patiently for his boss to continue.

"I take it the necessary precautions were taken?"

The man in the suit nodded, crossing to the small table in the corner of the room and retrieving the folder before holding it out for his boss to take.

"May Elizabeth Parker, née Reilly," he began as Chenko scanned the file, "Brooklyn native. Born May 5th 1951. Became the legal guardian of her husband Ben Parker's nephew Peter when his parents died fifteen years ago. Is currently employed at the local hospital as a nurse…"

Chenko paced back and forth, their outline barely visible as they passed by the window.

"Did anything turn up at the house?"

Daniels cleared his throat, fighting the urge to take a step back.

"Nothing concrete. It was made to look like a run-of-the-mill burglary. But by now, Parker is aware he's being targeted."

Chenko hummed, the vibration of the robotic tone echoing around the room.

"Good. If he thinks his last remaining family member is no longer safe, the added pressure should cause him to slip up."

The suited man crossed his arms, psyching himself up to ask the multitude of questions that had been plaguing him for days.

"Spit it out already, Daniels, I haven't got all day."

Tilting his head, he regarded the shadowed figure.

"With all due respect, boss…why the change in plan? I thought you just wanted Parker eliminated?"

Silence met his words.

Daniels felt compelled to continue, "why did Groves need to be taken out?"

The silence was becoming deafening.

Suddenly, questions were cascading from Daniels before he could stop them.

"Why hire Blye when you knew he was sub-par and wouldn't get the job done? Why make him plant the bomb to frame Wilson? Why make him dress up as Spider Man and attempt to kill the Parker kid again, only to fail, again, and then send him on a suicide mission to tail the mercenary?"

The man in the suit physically clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip, shocked at his own outburst.

"Please boss," he took a step forward, raising his hands, "don't misunderstand me. I'm…I'm not questioning your methods I…I just feel like I'm not seeing the full picture and as your number two—"

"You asked why I had Groves killed, Mr Daniels?" Chenko cut across him, the mechanical syllables clipped, "simply put, he got too close. Asked too many questions. I don't like questions. You of all people should know that."

The threat hung over his head like a dark cloud.

"I will say this however," Chenko continued, "your idea to hire Wilson to take him out has proved to be more lucrative than I originally thought."

Daniels looked as if he desperately wanted to comment but was restraining himself.

"I could have just gotten the Blye kid to eliminate Groves and Parker simultaneously, but, as you so candidly put it, he has proven to be…unreliable. Pinning both murders on the unhinged mercenary and letting The Avengers deal with him seemed to be the perfect plan…but now? Things have changed. So that plan had to too. As the great Stephen Hawking once said: intelligence is the ability to adapt to change."

Daniels watched with narrowed eyes as Chenko turned their back, reached into a briefcase and retrieved a notebook.

"Upon inspection, it seems that Parker remembers nothing of the event," they noted aloud while writing, "it is now time to check on our other subject…"

The man in the suit nodded, pushing down his mounting doubts, just glad that at least this element of the plan was something he had a firmer understanding of.

"Yes, boss. I'll notify Blye. He should be delivering Wilson in the next 48 hours…"

* * *

><p>When Peter was eleven, a raccoon burrowed its way under the Parker household and eventually found its way inside. For weeks, everybody thought they were going crazy, hearing random scuffling, scratching and banging, almost as if the house itself was processed by some wayward spirit.<p>

He could remember vividly, even now, how he had shot bolt-upright in his bed in the middle of the night, heart hammering wildly in his chest, his tired eyes fighting to adjust to the gloom as he fumbled around for his glasses, a particularly loud crash sounding from downstairs.

Biting his lip, he trampled down his fear of the unknown and forced himself out of bed, grabbing his unused baseball bat from his closet, and creeping down the hallway. As he made his way downstairs, he heard the hushed voices of his aunt and uncle coming from the kitchen.

Relief flooding his small body, he reached out to push open the kitchen door, only to freeze, wide eyes drinking in the sight before him.

The entire room was in disarray.

Broken glass, cutlery, food, spilled liquid and a slew of trash littered the floor. The lower cabinets were in various states, some half open, one even hanging off its hinges.

Uncle Ben and Aunt May whirled around at the sound of Peter, alarmed expressions marring their faces.

Peter barely had time to glance back before another round of rustling could be heard, startling May and prompting Ben to leap into action. As the elder Parker raced towards the door leading out into the back yard, a large black and grey blur scarpered around his feet, causing him to trip.

"Oh Ben!" May exclaimed, rushing to her husband's aid as he collided with the kitchen table with a loud thump.

"That little bandit!" he groused before catching Peter's eye.

As the two Parker men regarded one another, the elder suddenly erupted into a fit of laughter, as the raccoon, bold as brass, continued to rifle through the overturned trash can in the middle of the kitchen, attempting to pick up an empty beer bottle in its little hands.

Fears abated, a small smile broke out on the young boy's face as his aunt rolled her eyes, taking action by grabbing a broom and shooing at the small creature.

"Honestly Ben, this isn't funny! Raccoons can be very dangerous and can carry rabies. Peter, go back upstairs while I call animal control…" she paused, pleased when she managed to coax the mini mammal into the pantry, deftly shutting the door behind it.

"Nobody touch that door, do you hear me? As of now it's—"

"Coon Correctional Facility?" Ben piped up as Peter let out a giggle.

"It's times like these where I'm reminded that there's actually two children in this house," May sighed with a shake of her head, hand coming up to her face to try and hide her growing grin.

"Hey," Ben called after his wife as she made her way out to make the phone call, "look at it this way, honey. At least we now know it's not a poltergeist!"

That was a good memory. One that Peter's mind conjured as he found himself standing in the same kitchen thirteen years later, it much in the same state that the raccoon had rendered it all that time ago, albeit now, he had the sinking suspicion that the disarray had a much more sinister culprit.

"Peter?" his aunt murmured as she placed her hand on his shoulder gently.

Spinning towards her, they both silently drank in the scene before them.

Every room in the house had been ransacked, furniture overturned, possessions broken and thrown about haphazardly.

His hazel eyes caught on something near his foot, his heart clenching as he leaned down to pick up the familiar picture frame, now cracked, that held the last picture of he, his aunt and uncle before Ben's death the following year.

Biting his lip, Peter traced the outline of each face before righting the table and placing it gently back down onto it.

"We have to call the police," he murmured quietly, not in the least looking forward to another run in with the cops, but knowing it had to be done, whether he liked it or not.

As silence met his words, he was compelled to turn to his aunt, confused at the astonished expression on her face as she stared at something over his shoulder.

"Aunt May what are you—" Peter broke off as his eyes landed on none other than Tony Stark himself, standing in the open front doorway, arms folded.

"Hey kid," he began, shoving his hands in his pockets, "I'm sorry, the door was open. Mind if I come in?"

"I don't think ya ready for this jelly, I don't think ya ready for this jelly, I don't think you're ready for this, 'cause my body's too bootylicious for ya babe!"

_{Beyoncé he is not}_

_[He's not even a Michelle]_

"Hey, don't rag on my girl Michelle," Deadpool scolded the boxes in between singing his beloved jam, ignoring the muffled groans sounding from over his shoulder and selecting his favourite ice-pick with the bloodied handle, practically vibrating with glee.

Tilting his head, he brought the sharp instrument up to his eye and watched as it gleamed against the harsh light of the room.

"Perfect," he giggled, running his finger up the shaft to brush lightly along the tip.

_[Ha ha. Dirty]_

"Have some self-respect, yellow," Wade admonished, "we're above cheap innuendos."

_[Are we?]_

_{I'm sorry. Have we met?}_

"Hey, give me some credit. I'm not just some taco and chimichanga lovin' moron that just spews pop culture references and dick humor like a two cent gumball machine! I do have depth, you know."

_[Big words for a guy who was just singing a song called Bootylicous]_

"It's a classic! And besides, I said I'm not JUST those things. It's called having layers. Like an onion."

_{So you're not above quoting Shrek, then?}_

"Mike Myers is a goddamn comedic genius and I will not have a word said against my fellow Canadian!"

_[Three words: The Love Guru]_

"We do not speak of that," Wade muttered darkly, aware of the baffled and terrified stare of his new houseguest burning a hole into his back.

_{We're being rude hosts}_

"This guy," Wade whirled around suddenly, pleased to see that the motion had startled the man he'd bound to the chair, "doesn't deserve our manners. He has been a very bad Nancy Drew and has been following us around for the last three days," he paused, stepping closer, bringing himself up to his full height, looming over the man and holding the ice-pick an inch from his eye.

"And unless he is a very good boy and tells me why, he will end up nicknamed Jack Sparrow and becoming a member of Nick Fury's Club For The Visually Impaired!"

The young man's dark eyes widened in alarm as he struggled to speak around the gag in his mouth.

_[Um, not to throw a wrench in your plans there big guy but…how are you going to interrogate him if he can't talk?]_

Deadpool faltered, frowning.

_{Oh yeah. You're a real onion, alright}_

_[Also, Jack Sparrow doesn't have an eye-patch]_

_{Why the hell would anyone ever encourage Johnny Depp to cover even part of his face?!}_

Rolling his eyes, Wade wrenched the gag and tape off the young man's face. He cried out in pain, body hunched over as much as the binds would allow, head down.

"Alright…let's try this again," Wade growled, using his free hand to pat the guy down, stopping when he felt something in his jacket pocket.

Ignoring how he flinched and shivered at his touch, Deadpool plunged his hand into his pocket and retrieved a wallet.

"Well hello…Joseph Blye, 26 years old from Queens," he began with faux civility, staring down at his driver's licence before placing a hand on his heart, "I'm Wade. Pleased to make your acquaintance," he paused, leaning down into the Blye's face, a steel edge to his tone, "now tell me what the hell you're doin' followin' me around like the worst P.I. in history or so help me, this will be goin' in a lot more orifices than just your eye socket!"

Every drop of blood drained from Blye's face, his chocolate eyes glazed with unshed tears as they glued to the menacing ice-pick, his limbs shaking like a leaves in the wind.

Yet his remained silent.

"You're either an incredibly brave mother-fucker, or a really stupid one," Deadpool snorted before shrugging, continuing to rifle through the wallet, upturning it onto the floor.

Cards, coins and bills fell at his feet. Leaning down, he sorted through everything, a small scrap of folded paper catching his eye. Glancing up to Blye (who was now avoiding looking at him) he straightened up, paper clutched in his hand.

"Well what do we have…" Wade's voice died in his throat as he opened up the paper, revealing a scanned picture of a very familiar, bespectacled brunet.

His blood ran cold.

There was a definitive shift in the air, an ominous morphing of ambiance as he took a step towards Blye, picture held up for him to see.

"Kelly, can ya handle this," he began singing under his breath as he inched closer and closer to the younger man, his tone dangerous.

_{Really? Are we actually doing this?}_

_[This is too cheesy, even for us]_

"Michelle, can ya handle this," Wade took another step, ignoring his boxes as rage flooded his veins, "Beyoncé can ya handle this…" he stopped directly in front Blye who stared up at him like a frightened child, "I don't think ya can handle THIS!" he roared as he plunged the ice-pick into the man's thigh.

Joe let out an ear-splitting screech of anguish.

_[Wow, if we had neighbours they would totally hate us]_

_{Shh! This shit's gettin' good}_

"Alright you little shit!" Wade yelled into Blye's face, his own twisted into an ugly scowl as he dug the ice pick further into his flesh.

Ignoring the frantic, agonizing screams and blood soaking through material, he spat with unrelenting fury, "if ya wanna keep your kneecaps, you tell me right now why the fuck you have a picture of Peter fucking Parker!"

* * *

><p>When Peter was ten years old, he had a poster of Tony Stark on his wall. The man was many things, but to pre-adolescent Peter Parker, he was an inspiration. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist...and the head of his own company since the tender age of twenty-one.<p>

What wasn't there to like?

Turns out, a lot.

"You know, I have the name of a good cleaning lady, if you want," Tony murmured under his breath as he took Peter and May's silence to enter the room, raking in the scene before him.

Peter glared at him, stone-faced.

Stark's movements seemed to awaken May however, who immediately jumped into action, gesturing wildly.

"P-Please, Mr Stark, come in! Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Forgive the mess...we-we've been—"

"Robbed, it looks like," Stark interjected, "and no thank you Mrs Parker, I'm fine. Please, you've had a shock, you should probably sit down," he gestured to the chair behind her.

It appeared that May didn't need to be asked twice, and collapsed into the chair, wringing her hands as her eyes continued to dart around the room in dismay.

Peter frowned at her worriedly for a moment, before clearing his throat, "uh, excuse us for a minute, Aunt May," he turned to Tony. "Mr Stark?" he gazed pointedly at the older man, before gesturing out into the hallway, paranoid now, the nano-trackers burning a hole in his pocket as he suddenly remembered that he had taken them from the lab. He found that he didn't care, though. Even if he borrowed the SH Laser, it didn't give Stark the right to come to his Aunt's of all places!

Once the door shut behind them, the brunet whirled around, angrily hissing, "Since when did Iron Man start making house calls?! What the hell are you doing here?!"

Tony barely batted an eyelid at Peter's theatrics.

"Selena told me you were questioned by the cops today," he murmured nonchalantly, shrugging, "when you didn't answer your cell, and weren't at that dump you call an apartment, I figured you were here."

Peter threw up his hands in frustration, "you know the whole point of a secret identity is for it to be kept secret, right?! I mean, I know your ego wouldn't let you fight crime without getting the credit, but that doesn't mean the rest of us don't value our anonymity!"

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him, but Peter was too pumped up to stop now.

"What the hell is my aunt meant to think when Tony Frickin' Stark of all people shows up at the doorstep of one of his lower level employees for apparently no reason?! Did you even take that into account before traipsing over here? And forgive me if we don't all live in penthouse apartments at twenty-four, we can't all be children of billionaires!" he ranted, whisper-shouting as he paced back and forth in the hallway.

"You know, for a low-level employee, that sure is some way to talk to your boss," Stark deadpanned before taking a breath, "look, I'm gonna ignore pretty much everything you just said 'cause it's obvious you've just had a shock, but let's not forget here, kid. In just two weeks, you've been shot at twice by a crazed sniper, almost had your apartment levelled by a bomb and now had your childhood home ransacked..." he trailed off, taking a step towards the younger man, catching his eye, "you wanted to know since when Iron Man started making house-calls? Since someone clearly has it out for everyone's favourite neighbourhood Spider Man, that's when."

Peter let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, visibly deflating as the older man's words sank into his panicked brain. Raking a hand through his hair, he tried to calm his fraying nerves.

"Alright..." he nodded, "I-I'll think of some excuse for Aunt May. But for now—I...I gotta get her outta here. Thank god she wasn't home when this went down. She—she could have been hurt," he bit his lip, forcing back the tears that fought to well up in his eyes at the very thought.

Tony's ever-present smirk disappeared as he nodded solemnly, before folding his arms, "she can come stay at the tower. That way, you won't have to worry about her safety."

A laugh bubbled up from Peter's chest.

"Did you hear nothing I just said? How the hell would I begin to explain—"

"Are you forgetting the philanthropist part of my persona?" Tony cut across him, his eyes glinting with haughtiness, "just tell her that your wonderful boss has graciously invited her to stay in his home while the police process the crime scene that is no doubt a completely random B&E..." he paused, tapping his chin, "which reminds me, you should come back to the tower, too. Your place has already been compromised once already. And you wouldn't want to put your neighbours in any more danger, would you?"

As Peter stood there, opposite the man who was not just his boss, but his team-mate and somewhat mentor, he marvelled at the varying ways the man seemed to somehow cause several spikes of irritation to smoulder under his skin.

Loath he to admit it, he knew Tony was right.

Before he had to go through the humiliation of professing such however, he felt the vibration of his phone through his pocket.

Avoiding Stark's trenchant gaze, he retrieved it, the screen lighting up, indicating a new text message received, along with a dozen missed phone calls.

"Oh, so now you answer your phone," Tony groused.

Peter ignored him as he tapped into the message, frowning in confusion as he read:

**Hi Petey! It's me, Wade. Huh, that sounded like that Hi God, book, didn't it? Lolz. Anyway, I've something super important to show u so I'm sendin u my ANUS. Dammit. No! Stupid Automatic! Auto-machinery. AUTOCORRECT. Stupid Autocorrect! I'm sendin u my ADDRESS. So, yeah, kinda urgent. So hurry that fine ass up, kay? Kisses! xoxoxo**

"Everything okay?" Stark asked, his tone more than curious as he leaned forward slightly.

Peter started, hurriedly shoving the phone back into his pocket, feeling another vibration that was more than likely Wade texting him his address as he did so.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. It's just...The Bugle. I have to stop by for—"

"Peter I don't think it's the best idea for you to be out on—"

"I'll be careful," Peter ground out, his tone one of finality as he turned on his heel, murmuring over his shoulder, "guess it's time to tell Aunt May the good news. A sleepover at Casa Del Stark."

"Actually kid, you need to brush up on your Spanish. I think the proper translation would be Casa De Stark."

When Peter was twelve, he fully began to understand just what exactly Tony Stark made at Stark Industries, and didn't find him such an inspiration any more. He remembered looking up articles and finding death and destruction with the Stark logo emblazoned on the side of the culprits: weaponry, missiles, bombs.

It made him sick.

But a few years later, when Stark had disbanded his weapons division and began working on new projects, laying claim to the fascinating invention that was the Iron Man suit (and adopting a life of crime-fighting) Peter steadily found his admiration in the man returning.

Didn't mean he wasn't still a jackass, though.

* * *

><p>Squinting down at his cell phone's screen, Peter read and re-read the address that Wade had sent him, before glancing up at the building in front of him.<p>

This was definitely the place.

It was...something.

Let's just say, he would never complain about the state of his apartment building, ever again.

Heaving a sigh, he made his way into the place, none too shocked that the elevator was broken and began to climb the stairs.

Once he had been satisfied that his aunt was settling in comfortably at the Tower, important and essential possessions in tow, an awe-struck expression on her face as Tony (and Jarvis) played the perfect hosts, he had made his excuses and left, heading west.

Although he was incredibly paranoid about his only remaining family member being so near to everything Spider Man, his two lives dangling incredibly close to one another, threatening to collide disastrously, he had to admit that he was relieved that she would be safe with the other Avengers being so close, and yet out of sight.

Stopping outside apartment number 69, Peter rolled his eyes, (he wouldn't be one bit surprised if that was the whole reason Wade lived here) and tried to mentally prepare himself for what he would find inside as he raised his hand and knocked loudly.

Visiting Deadpool at his home. Another thing he never thought he'd do. What other milestone was he destined to make this week?

After a moment, a high-pitched squeal could be heard as thunderous footsteps made their way closer, seconds before the door was swung wide open to reveal a masked Wade, sporting what appeared to be a rather frilly purple dress over his jeans.

Peter gaped, words stuck in his throat, his eyes roaming the other man, as the mercenary bounced on the balls of his feet giddily.

"Petey Pie! You made it! Do you like what you see?" Wade leered as he curtseyed.

"How did you get my cell phone number?" Peter opted to ask in lieu of even attempting to answer that, stepping into the apartment as Deadpool stood aside.

"Petey..." the merc began, sounding offended he had enquired such a thing, "I kill people for money. You really think it's that hard for me to find out one little phone number?"

Peter stared at him.

Wade stared back.

The silence stretched between them.

"Fine! I asked your aunt, okay?"

"And how did you get her number?"

"Phone book! Can you believe they still make those things?"

A loud groan suddenly interrupted their back-and-forth, startling Peter, who turned on his heel and gasped at what met his eyes.

"Is this a sex thing? Please tell me this isn't a sex thing…" he gaped, horrified at the sight of a clearly beat-up man bound to a wooden chair.

"Aww, Petey! You're no fun," Wade admonished, entirely too blasé for Peter's liking.

"Seriously Wade, what the hell is this?!" he exclaimed with alarm, his eyes wandering over to a nearby table that was laden with all different types of sharp objects, gleaming menacingly under the light.

Deadpool sighed, taking a step closer, "this Petey Pie," he gestured over his shoulder, "is the ass-wipe that tried to kill you."

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back, clearing his throat, and adopting an overly-formal tone, "Mr Peter Parker, meet Mr Joseph Blye. Joe, I hear you're already familiar with Peter…" Wade trailed off ominously, a hardened edge to his tone as he removed the gag that he had unceremoniously shoved back in his mouth to plug the screaming.

"P-Please, let me go. I—I don't know anything I swear," the bound man rambled, his eyes wide with fright.

Peter took a step forward, "how do you know this is the guy?" he asked, side-eyeing the merc wearily.

Deadpool threw up his hands, scoffing, "because he admitted it!"

"Because you tortured him," the brunet responded flatly, bile rising up his throat at the sight of the man's open wounds that littered his body, a particularly nasty one on his left thigh, his pant leg almost completely soaked with blood.

"Well, when I asked nice, he just cried like a little bitch," Wade snapped hotly, his body rigid, "you have a problem how I conduct my investigations Petey, there's the door."

Peter's eyes glinted with steel.

"I'm not leaving so you can kill him."

"Well then," Deadpool shrugged, "guess you're staying for the show," he finished, lunging at the man, katana appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

Peter leapt forward, his arm sliding around the taller man's chest.

"Please, Wade. No killing," he breathed against him, surprised by how close they stood, his chest brushing against the taller man's back as the air bounced against Wade's bare shoulder, causing him to shudder.

"That's kinda the perks of being a mercenary, kid," the merc ground out, his tone sounding almost pained.

_[Ooh…he said the name of the chapter in the chapter! Like when they say the title of the movie in movies. I love that!]_

_{If Petey keeps breathing on us like that, I think the next movie title mentioned will be The Dark Knight Rises}_

_[The Dark Knight being his junk?]_

_{Take me down to erection city}_

"Let me talk to him," the brunet continued as Wade slackened in his grasp, having fallen uncharacteristically quiet.

Wade's fingers itched to touch Peter's arm as it rested on his chest, the younger man's posture awkward and strained due to their height difference.

"Fine. Knock yourself out," he shrugged, forcing himself out of his grasp and storming over to the other side of the room.

Peter stared at the mercenary's retreating back for a moment, mesmerized by the breadth of his scarred shoulders under the flimsy material of the dress, before shaking his head and focussing back on Blye.

"I'm...sorry for my friend," he began, almost wincing at the conversational tone he adopted in such a dire circumstance.

Blye stared at him, apparently thinking the same thing.

"Is there any truth to what he's saying? Are you the one with the sniper rifle?" he asked, pulling out another chair and sliding it across to room to stop in front of Blye, before taking a seat.

"Look man," Joe bit his lip, his head hung low, "I know who this guy is, I'm not stupid. He's gonna kill me anyway, so why should I tell you shit?"

Peter hated to admit he understood where the guy was coming from.

"He's not going to kill you," he responded, not entirely confident in what he was saying.

Wade snorted. Apparently he wasn't either.

"He's not going to kill you," Peter repeated pointedly, glaring at Wade who turned around to watch the two other men talk.

"Are you, Wade?" the brunet asked, although his tone suggested it was less of a question and more of a demand.

The mercenary shrugged, "he followed me around for three days and had a creepy picture of you in his wallet...people have gotten dead for less. Just sayin'."

_[Why is Petey looking at us like Jim from The Office?]_

_{Because I think the big guy was meant to promise not to kill the big baby in order to get him to start spilling the beans}_

_[Oops]_

_{Also, we've just completely given up on trying to maintain proper Point of View, haven't we?}_

_[Yep]_

"Uh, I mean," Wade murmured, pulling on one of the frills on his dress, "I promise I won't kill you if you tell us everything about who hired you. And also where you got that leather jacket because damn! I gots ta get me one of tho—"

"See, he's not going to kill you," Peter cut across the merc's gushing over Joe's jacket with a roll of his eyes.

Joe wearily looked between the two men, before sighing.

"All I know is that the boss is called Chenko. I've never seen him, though. Dude speaks with some sorta voice-modulator thing. His right hand man is Daniels, a clean cut, suit-wearing, white-collar lookin' type. My cousin Gio got me the gig...they killed him..." he trailed off, tears welling up in his eyes.

Peter let a beat of silence pass before asking, "And why do they want me dead?"

Joe's head shot up at that, his tone frantic, "dude, I swear, I have no idea! All I was told was a name, time and place. After I—botched the first job I...they made me try again at the coffee shop. I don't know what their beef with you is...but I do know they aren't playin' around."

Peter lowered his head, letting the information sink in.

"So it was you dressed up in the Spider Man suit?"

Joe nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Wade shift uncomfortably.

"Were you the one who planted the bomb that looked like one of mine in the apartment?" he asked sharply, folding his arms, the dress bunching up slightly and exposing a little of his toned and heavily scarred chest.

Blye's entire body tensed as his eyes travelled up the merc's, his uninjured knee bouncing nervously up and down.

With the slightest inclination of his head, he minutely nodded.

Wade leapt towards him, "you little—"

"Wade can I have a glass of water, please?" Peter cut him off, stopping the Canadian in his furious tracks.

"I'm not leaving you with this—"

"He's tied to a chair. I'll be fine," the brunet assured him firmly.

Fists clenched at his sides, the merc glanced between the two men before angrily turning on his heel and storming into the other room.

"How the hell do you get him to listen to you? That freak is insane. Fuckin' talks to himsel-"

"Did you have anything to do with the B&E in Queens this afternoon?" Peter cut across him, his tone razor sharp as his aunt's face formed in his mind's eye.

Blye stared at him blankly.

"Dude, I've been here, getting fucking tortured by a goddamn lunatic for the last seven hours! I know nothin' about some fuckin-"

"Did the people who hired you mention anyone apart from me that was in danger? Was there any other hits put out on anyone close to me?"

The other man shook his head vigorously.

"Nothin' anyone said to me. Why?"

Ignoring his question, Peter stood up from his chair and hurried over to Blye, quickly beginning to untie his binds.

"What—"

"Shut up and listen. If you don't get outta here, I will not be able to stop him from killing you," Peter hissed as quietly as he could, "the nearest hospital is a little over a mile west from here. Hurry!" he finished, hauling the man to his feet and pushing him back towards the door.

Joe trampled down the desire to cry out in pain as he hobbled, limping badly.

"Why are you doing this? I tried to kill you! Why the hell would you save—"

"Do you want to argue with me about my logic or get the hell out of here?" Peter cut across him, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

Blye didn't need to be told twice, throwing open the door and frantically limping down the corridor.

Peter watched his retreating back until he was out of sight then quietly closed the door, turning around just as Wade was coming back from the kitchen.

"Okay Prince Petey, here's your damn—" he stopped dead.

Peter forced a small smile onto his face, knowing it probably looked closer to a grimace.

"Where the hell is he?!" Wade erupted, frenetically searching the room for Blye.

"I let him go," the younger man responded simply, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the door.

"You let him..." he gaped, "have you lost your goddamn mind?! The guy tried to kill you! Why the hell would you—what the fuck is that noise?" his tone morphed from fuming to irritated as the constant stream of beeping wafted through his haze of fury.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, Peter dug his hand into his pocket, holding up what looked like a miniature monitor that had a red flashing dot on it, that was the source of the irksome beep.

"That would be the nano-tracker I planted on Blye...I haven't managed to fix the sound yet."

Wade took a step towards Peter as he held out the device for him to take.

"His first stop will probably be the hospital, but after that, my guess is that he'll either go straight to whoever hired him, or they'll find out that he squealed and go to him," Peter explained as the merc stared down at the slowly moving dot as it headed west.

Gently approaching him, he continued, "either way, I figured we could see where Blye could lead us."

"You fucking genius," Wade breathed, awe dripping from his tone.

Peter shrugged, ignoring the heat that had spread across his face. He had to admit, it was a decent bit of quick thinking.

"Oh shit!" the mercenary exclaimed suddenly, disrupting the pleasant silence that had befallen them "I never got to ask him where he got his jacket!"

_{Focus you idiot! You are alone with Petey in your apartment, all dressed up. And it's late...}_

_[He needs to sort out his priorities]_

_{Is that who we are now? Someone who quotes the Harry Potter movies?}_

_[It's a step up from Shrek]_

Peter was watching Wade, confusion etched on his handsome face.

"Wade? Are you alri—"

"It's late!" Wade exclaimed suddenly, apropos of nothing.

The brunet shuffled uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh yeah, I uh...I better get going th—"

"NO!" the merc interrupted him loudly, holding up his hands.

"I uh...what I meant was—it's late and you probably haven't eaten yet so...uh...did you wanna stay, have something to eat? We can keep our eye on the tracker, make sure Blye really is at the hospital?"

Peter's eyebrows raised, surprised by the offer.

"I—that sounds nice Wade, but I should probably get back. It's late and..." he trailed off, suddenly remembering that Tony had brought his Aunt May back to the Tower and advised him to do the same as soon as possible and not go home.

The thought of Tony's ensuing lecture didn't sound as appealing as dinner and a maybe-stake-out with Wade, if he was honest.

It worried him slightly that that didn't surprise him.

"Actually, sure, okay. I'd like that," Peter replied before he could talk himself out of it, highly aware that he had just passed another milestone.

Wade leapt up into the air with a gleeful yell before catching himself, clearing his throat, a blush forming on his neck and clavicle that was still very much visible due to the dress.

"Awesome," he said lowly, his tone noticably deeper as he tried (and largely failed) to be cool.

The younger man nodded, glancing around him, letting his surroundings sink in for the first time. He had to admit, despite the make-shift torture chamber the merc had morphed his living room in to; the place was a lot cleaner than he thought it would be.

_[Totally knew our last minute sprucing of the place would pay off!]_

"A good ol' fashioned sleep over it is, then!" Wade clapped his hands gleefully, crossing the room to get the take-out menus, failing to notice Peter's confusion.

"What d'ya say, Petey? Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"

_[Creole Lady Marmalade!]_

* * *

><p><em><strong>The plot thickens…seriously, it's like soup consistency at this point. <strong>_

Worry not. All will become clear soon. Like consommé.

_**Big words comin' from the chick that's making up this shit as she goes along. And really, soup humor?**_

Yes, soup humor. Fuck you, I'm hilarious. And I have a plan, I'll have you know. It's a loose, somewhat sporadic, and certainly subject to change, but it's a plan. You and Petey are in the same bed in the next chapter.

_**I never doubted you, you wonderful woman you! **_

Uh huh.

**NEXT CHAPTER TEASER: **

_**{Is she seriously doing the sleeping-in-the-same-bed trope?}**_

_**[Shut up! Do not ruin this for us]**_

_**{So cliché. Seriously, all we need now is the big guy to get all handsy during the night and for poor Petey to wake up to a hard-on pressed against his—}**_

"**Hey, you okay?"**

**Wade was spat from his reverie by the sound of Peter's voice. Catching his eye, the two men regarded one another from either side of the bed.**

_**{This is exactly how all our dreams start}**_

_**[And most pornos. Just with pizza delivery guys instead of grad students]**_


End file.
